


Different Stories

by EVRyderWriter, LadyMarianne123



Series: Devil's Dominion: Familiae Seorsum [1]
Category: Dominion (TV), Legion (2010), Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angel/Human Relationships, Angels, F/M, Gen, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-06-08 10:51:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 138,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6851710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EVRyderWriter/pseuds/EVRyderWriter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMarianne123/pseuds/LadyMarianne123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Dominion Season 2/Lucifer Season 1 AU-Canon crossover</p><p>Vega's repercussions didn't end with that Chosen One stolen away by the Son of Morning. Our reality is in its crosshairs. Reunited with a family he loves to hate, embroiled in their secrets and follies as though he never Fell, Lucifer and his favorite Detective, her family, the City of Angels, and indeed, the rest of world, are about to be confronted by Vega's turmoil: What is Dear Old Dad truly capable of when He has a burning question of loyalty in need of answering? Who lives and who dies?  Most of all, what are Chosen Ones made of?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So it begins

**Author's Note:**

> This story will include descriptions (or scenes) from various movies and/or television programs where Lucifer was a main or important character.  
> Also - flashback based on scene from Dominion.

Lucifer Morningstar, owner of one of the most sought after clubs in Los Angeles, sighed. Charity benefits had not been something he had ever been interested in and now he knew why. Boredom had set in, making everything, even the Champaign in his glass, seem bland and tasteless. The women kept flitting around him like moths to a flame. They were older than they said and dull beyond endurance, something he found annoying. Not a one of them had anything to interest or arouse him. He was trying to remember why he had agreed to attend this soiree, with its colorless people engaged in meaningless conversation about nothing. Father Frank’s death had left him at odds with himself, a hollow feeling he couldn’t understand. This charity benefit had been on the priest’s calendar, an invitation sent to him by a parishioner whose son had been helped out of a bad situation by Frank. Maybe that was why he had agreed to attend in Father Frank’s place. Or maybe he was just trying to prove something to Detective Decker, that he wasn’t the feckless creature he had shown her. Maybe he was trying to prove he was not the dark creature his father had made him. This party, however, was bringing up all sorts of evil thoughts about what he could do to lessen the crushing boredom. 

“Well, isn’t this an interesting turn of events” a musical voice sounded from behind him. Lucifer turned and there in front of him was an angel from Heaven, an angel with a devilish glint in her big dark eyes. She was nearly as tall as he was, coming just under his chin. Dark hair, like raven’s wings, was done up in an elegant chignon, silver pins with emerald heads tucked neatly in to it. Her dark satin dress was modestly high in the front but the mirror behind her showed him that the back was low, showing off her pale skin. Silver chains criss-crossed her back, lacing the dress not-quite shut. But it was her face that held his rapt attention. High cheekbones, wide eyes and up-turned nose gave her a classically beautiful face, a Grecian profile that would live in dreams. “How the hell are you Morningstar?”

Lucifer smiled happily. “Better now that I’ve seen you, my dear Miryam. How long have you been free from the world of the Sidhe?” He reached out and tucked her hand into his arm, walking back towards a shadowy alcove and comfortable sofa he had seen when he first arrived. 

“Probably in this realm for a year or so, playing hunter around the mortals, but only here in L.A. for a few weeks. I had heard you’d taken a sabbatical from Hell looking for some fun but tonight you look bored” Miryam said, taking his drink from his hand. “Why are you here? This isn’t your normal venue. Not enough flash, bright lights and pretty girls.” She put the glass on a passing tray, replacing it with a fresh one before taking a seat on the sofa, slipping her shoes off and tucking her legs up under her. Lucifer sat beside her, close enough to reach out and play with a strand of hair that had come loose from her chignon. 

“New experiences, luv. I positively thrive on them.” He leaned on his arm, his eyes sweeping over her lovely face. He drank in the view before him: long, dark eyelashes dusted with a subtle touch of silver powder. Berry red lips and a touch of bronzer on cheekbones, healthy glow to soft smooth skin. Absolutely ravishing, a face to die for.

Miryam laughed softly, leaning on the arm she had stretched across the top of the sofa. “Experiences? What experiences? These people have bland and boring down to a fine art but as an experience – it’s something I could happily pass on.” She took a sip from her glass and made a face. “And they serve the absolute worst Champaign. I understand this is a charity benefit but really, being cheap with their refreshments isn’t going to loosen anyone’s purse strings.”

Lucifer looked down at his glass critically. “I knew there was something wrong with this.” He tossed it behind his back, managing to miss the older couple standing by the wall by inches. “Are your brothers with you?”

“Which set?” she asked, leaning over to carefully place her drink on the floor. “My blood brothers, my brothers in arms, or your brothers?” She glanced out at the people mixing on the dance floor, mortal souls innocent of all the other creatures that existed in their world. “My elder blood brother sits on his throne, recreating the kingdom of magic through force of arms and strength of will. My twin blood brother holds together the temple in Shangri La, taking his monks through meditation and martial arts.” She sighed contentedly. “My “other” brothers – they go where your father sends them and ends the worlds he turns his back on. As for your siblings” she hesitated, watching the fallen angel’s face as she talked. “Neither I nor my blood have had contact with your brothers for some time.”

Lucifer frowned. “That is not something I would have expected. My brother’s were so attached to you and your blood that I thought nothing short of the Apocalypse would have parted you all from them.”

Miryam sighed. “I fear this break in our relationship falls on me. Michael and I have parted company and my brothers, out of loyalty to me, have cut Gabriel and Uriel out of their lives as well. Not that it matters to your father.” She smiled at the handsome creature in front of her. “We are still Guardians and still stand between man and Heaven when we are needed.”

“You should tell the old man where to get off” Lucifer snarled. “I did.”

“But you are his Morningstar, his favorite son despite what you think. I am just the echo of angelic blood passed down through the generations and pooled in my family. He can always create more like me but you…you are special, unique, your father’s perfect creation.”

Lucifer looked away from her chocolate brown eyes, his mouth a tight slit. “I doubt he thinks as you do. His loss, not mine.” Lucifer’s fingers tapped restlessly on the back of the sofa. Memories of Father Frank bleeding out in his arms, of screaming his accusations to the heavens after the good man had died and his useless murderer living to be sent to probably a long life in some pale imitation of Hell’s prison filled his mind. He could feel the anger start to burn in him again, despite his assurances to Detective Decker and Dr. Martin that he was fine. His eyes glowed red for a moment. 

Miryam frowned and tapped his arm gently. “Hey, earth to Lucifer! Anything you want to tell me about?” She reached out and gently smoothed his hair back from his face, her cool fingers brushing his cheek.

Lucifer caught her hand and kissed the finger tips gently. “It’s not important. Not tonight.”

Music filled the venue, a low, sweet, romantic song abut love and loss. Miryam looked back at the party with a smile. “Dance with me, Prince of Hell. Let us both be happy for this moment, enjoy this second until reality forces itself back into our lives.” She rose gracefully, ignoring her high heel shoes as she moved out towards the dance floor. Lucifer followed her, one hand on the small of her back as he swept her into the dance. They moved gracefully in time to the song, fingers entwined, leaning together as they swayed around floor. They were still wrapped around the companionable silence between them when the police appeared and took the floor.


	2. Meet the Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer dances - and Chloe arrives on the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm using the lyrics from the Faith Hill song "I can Feel you Breathe" as an introduction to a scene. Just need to acknowledge the use - and love the song.

Chloe Decker stepped out of her car, her eyes scanning the area of the crime scene with a frown. She was supposed to be off tonight and had planned a movie night for Trixie as an apology for all the hours she had been spending on the job. But the Captain, when she had called with the assignment, had insinuated that it would be good for her reputation to take this particular case. Dan, when she had called him, had told his ex that he was also being assigned to the case so would not be able to stay with their daughter which had left Chloe with no choice but a frantic call to her babysitter. Trixie had not been happy but Chloe had not had the time to feel guilty.

The body had been reported in the parking area right behind a five-star hotel, a site crawling with people running back and forth moving cars that were worth more than her house. People dressed to the nines were milling around, annoyed by the fact that the police were keeping them from whatever expensive event they were missing. “Any i.d. on our victim? Who found the body?” she asked, looking around for Dan.

A uniformed officer looked back at her. “No wallet – looks like someone turned his pockets out after they killed him. That guy” he pointed towards a young, long haired man dressed as a bellman, standing beside an exit door “says he was just reporting for his shift when he found the victim crumpled in a corner of the parking garage, right next to that fancy convertible.” 

Chloe stopped, her eyes caught by the license on the car. It was Lucifer’s convertible; she would have recognized it anywhere. “Wonderful” she muttered. “Any idea where the owner of the car is?”

“There’s a parking slip in the windshield” Dan’s voice floated out of the semi-darkness of the garage. He stepped up beside her and pointed to the paper. “He’s inside at some swanky charity event. Looks like our victim was also headed in that direction – he had an invitation to the party in his pocket.” He handed a gold envelope to Chloe with a frown. “Maybe Lucifer knew this guy?”

“There are a lot of cars here with that special parking pass” Chloe protested, wondering why she felt she needed to defend her odd partner/consultant. “Someone at that party knew our victim – maybe they can identify him for us.’ She looked at the invitation again, making note of the ballroom where the party was occurring. “Hang tight here while I go see if I can drag him away from whatever or whoever he’s doing.” 

Chloe turned without another word and made for the exit door, winding her way through the garage and then the kitchen area. The hotel concierge she talked to mentioned that there were several events currently going on in the hotel but he was able to help her find the venue for the party that the matched the parking pass. “It’s in the Orchid Room” the man had said, his voice hushed. “Lots of L.A.’s movers and shakers at this one.” He pointed out the elaborate doors at the end of the hall. She walked through the entrance and stopped dead at the sight in front of her. 

“In a way I know my heart is waking up, As all the walls come tumbling down, I'm closer than I've ever felt before, And I know And you know There's no need for words right now, 'Cause I can feel you breathe, It's washing over me Suddenly I'm melting into you  
There's nothing left to prove Baby all we need is just to be Caught up in the touch, The slow and steady rush, Baby, isn't that the way that love's supposed to be I can feel you breathe, Just breathe.” 

The Faith Hill song floated over the dance floor, hauntingly sweet. In the center of the room two people were dancing, sweeping over the space gracefully as they moved through the steps only they seemed to know. All the other party goers had moved off to the sides, quietly watching as the couple slowly broke apart and came together as the song came to a halt, the woman slowly curtsying to her partner who in turn bowed to her. A beautiful sight made incongruous by the fact that one of the pair was none other than Lucifer Morningstar, hedonistic club owner and self professed Lord of Hell.

Lucifer stopped and smiled down at his beautiful friend. “That was lovely. We should do that more often.” 

Miryam looked warmly up at him. “True. We should.” She rose gracefully from her curtsy, holding his hand to steady her. She glanced over his shoulder and frowned. “Lucifer, why are there police at the party?”

Lucifer turned and smiled broadly at Chloe. “Detective! What a pleasure! May I introduce you to my friend, Miryam Sealgair. Miryam, this is Detective Decker, my partner in the L.A. police department.”

Miryam frowned. “When did you become a police officer? I thought you were running a night club.” She turned and started to walk back to the sofa to find her shoes with Lucifer close behind her.

Chloe reached out and grabbed his arm before he could get far. “There is a dead body outside beside your convertible. I need you to see if you recognize it. I’m sure your little friend…”

Lucifer stopped and the levity in his face disappeared. “My FRIEND, Detective, is a well bred lady, not like those doxies I’ve been sleeping with since I took up residence in Los Angeles. If you will excuse me, I need to take my leave of her before she disappears again. Your body can wait.” He turned on his heel and strode off, leaving a cloud of disapproval in his wake. 

Chloe watched in surprise. “What just happened?” she asked herself. “What did I say that brought that on?”


	3. Meet the Victim

Miryam gracefully sank back onto the sofa, fishing her expensive red silk heels out from under it and slipping them on. She could see her driver/guard Draco at the exit to the room holding her shawl and bag as he waited patiently (or with as much patience as a Dragon wearing human form could muster) as she prepared to leave. “I see you, Prince of Hell; there is no point in just hanging in the shadows and staring at me. My eyes were made to see in the dark – remember?” She looked up with a smile as her dance partner moved into the light in front of her, a scowl on his handsome face.

“Where do you think you are going?” he growled, his arms crossed over his chest. “I haven’t had a chance to speak to you in well over a century and you just decide to disappear on me? That isn’t nice.” He tapped one finger on his arm in frustration as he looked at her. 

“We spoke, if you can call it that, around 1955 when you called yourself Mr. Luis Cyphre and were looking for a dammed soul who was trying to weasel his way out of an arrangement with you. You wore a much different human face that time.” She looked her companion up and down and sniffed. “I prefer this incarnation of you, by the way, it’s much handsomer. You were VERY determined to punish this bad boy who walked out on your deal and didn’t seem to care that several other humans had to die before you finally got him back.” She rose gracefully from the sofa in front of him and in a matter of fact way brushed almost invisible dust from his jacket. “I had no sympathy for your prey – after all he was an offensive little cretin – but he was supposed to be MY prey and you didn’t even do me the curtsy of letting me help you take him down. I had almost forgotten that little incident until you introduced me to the lady detective. Strange the stories one remembers when you have nothing but time on your hands.” She turned and started towards the exit, motioning her driver to bring her wrap to her.

Lucifer bound across the room and put his hand on her arm, ignoring the growl from the human shaped fire-breather in front of him. “You’re not still mad about that, are you? It’s not like all those others weren’t headed for Hell too. And it wasn’t me that killed them if you recall. That little sod was getting his memories back and decided to off anyone who had ever known him before he traded bodies with an innocent.” He turned her around and smiled winningly at her. “At least tell me where I can find you so we can talk – and dance – again. Or maybe something more intimate?” His smile became more provocative at the thought.

She gently peeled his fingers from her arm and sighed. “Still on about that, are you? I said no once, in the late 1990's I belive, when you were using the name John Milton and were being an obnoxious creature trying to populate a reality with your offspring. I meant it then and I mean it now. We are a combustible pairing and we haven’t gotten any better with age. Besides…” her eyes dropped, a sigh escaping her lips “now is not a good time for me. Not for that.”

Lucifer’s happy smile disappeared as he felt his friends sadness float over him. “Something you want to tell me about, luv?” He reached out and touched her cheek, gently stroking her skin.

“Not really. Besides, I think your partner would have liked to have a word with you.” Miryam batted his hand away and looked over his shoulder at Chloe, who was about to walk out the door. “Maybe you should talk to her instead.”

“Oh that – it’s nothing. Just some tiresome body she wanted me to try to identify.” Lucifer’s eyes lit up again with a wicked glee. “Why don’t you come with me to view the body? Having a hunt might be just the thing to cheer you up!”

Miryam laughed, reaching over to take her black silk shawl from her driver. “Were you always this much of a child or did I just not take notice of it before? Murders are not meant as forms of entertainment, Lucifer. Not in a supposedly civilized society which admittedly this is not. But still…”

“Oh come on, be a sport. You know you’ll enjoy it. I’ll take you out to eat some real food afterwards. The snacks they’ve been pushing on us all night wouldn’t keep a bird alive.” He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and led her back towards the now retreating detective, patting Miryam’s hand. Behind them Draco rolled his eyes and followed silently, watching the Devil and the Sidhe guardian make their way to the human crime scene. 

Chloe took her annoyance back to the crime scene with her, wondering again what she had said that had set off her mercurial associate. “He was insulted by something” she thought grimly. “It’s like he thought I was dissing her by calling her his little friend.”

‘Detective!” Lucifer’s voice echoed in the parking garage, causing the forensic team and other officers to look up as he approached. To her annoyance he had brought his girlfriend and some other man with him. The man, standing just behind the couple, had a passing resemblance to an older Sean Connery and was tossing a set of keys in his hand as he stood behind Lucifer’s date, watching Lucifer with an amused expression. “I thought I’d bring Miryam along to your crime scene. She’s quite the puzzle solver – maybe she can help you with this!”

Chloe saw the woman roll her eyes and sighed at Lucifer’s exuberance. “It’s a crime scene, Lucifer, not an art gallery. We don’t usually allow civilians to walk through it like it’s a pay per view event.”

Miryam had thought to simply make her apologies and slide out of Lucifer’s reach so that she and Draco could start home. At least that had been the plan, until the coroner turned the body over. With a hiss, she pulled free from her friend's arm and walked over to the corpse, pulling her long skirt up to her ankles to keep it from brushing on any blood. “What the bloody hell is he doing here?”

Chloe shot the woman a look and walked over to her. “Do you know this man?”

“Yes and he’s supposed to be either in a cell or under it in a police station in Bucharest. How did he get here?” She straighten, the languid beauty turning suddenly brusque and business-like. “Draco, take me home. I need to make some calls. Someone has some explaining to do.” She stalked off, her driver trotting behind her. 

“Wait! I need to get a statement from you!” Chloe called out angrily. 

Draco handed his mistress her bag and after a moment she fished two items from its depths. One was a plain, silver card case which she handed to her older companion. The other…was a badge holder. She flashed it in the direction of the approaching police. “I’m afraid Lucifer didn’t complete his introduction of me. I’m Inspector Miryam Sealgair, Interpol, currently on sabbatical in the U.S. And that waste of flesh on the floor was once called Maxim Leblanc, a member of a wealthy and influential Austrian family and possibly one of the worst pedophiles it has been my pleasure to arrest. He was supposed to be in holding in Bucharest for his involvement with a massive human trafficking network my joint task force just broke up. If he is here – then something has gone massively wrong and I need to find out what. Come to my home tomorrow around 9:00. I should have shaken some of my contacts out of bed by then and may have more to tell you. Right now – I need to get to a phone.” She turned and left, none of the uniforms daring to approach her. 

Draco wrote an address quickly on one of his mistress’s business cards and handed it to Chloe. “Be on time – she despises tardiness. I suspect she’s already in a bad mood – there is no need to make it worse.” He tucked the case in his pocket and strode off after her with the key ring spinning between his fingers.

Lucifer turned to Chloe with a slightly confused smile on his face. “Well Detective – at least you can’t say I wasn’t helpful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Miryam and Lucifer are talking about is a movie called "Angel Heart" where Robert Dinero played Lucifer. Very different look. The mention of John Milton is from the movie "Devil's Advocate".


	4. Pt. 4 The Hunt Begins

Draco’s driving skills while in human form were much like his flying skills as a dragon – fast and single-minded. The fact he occasionally forgot and tried to drive on the left hand side of the road (way too many years living in England) didn’t help matters either. Miryam normally would hunker down in the back of the Bentley and pray to random deities that she and her companion would get home in one piece. Tonight, however, his erratic skills behind the wheel didn’t make a dent in her concentration. She had been on her cell phone since they had left the party venue, waking everyone on the joint task force and snapping orders in multiple languages. 

“I don’t care, Maurice, if it’s the middle of the night or high noon. You get on that phone and you call Beltran and find out how that piece of filth LeBlanc managed to get his sorry ass to Los Angeles instead of rotting in the jail I left him in. And do NOT tell me his family probably bribed someone. I KNOW they bribed someone. I want to know who that someone was so that I can inform his next of kin after I’ve relieved him of his life.” She hung up and tossed the phone across the car in annoyance. “Really! I leave them to their own devices for a few WEEKS and they let this case go to hell in a hand basket.”

Draco looked into the rear view mirror briefly as he pulled up in front of the house her brothers had rented for her. “Then perhaps it’s a good thing that the Devil is in Los Angeles to help you sort this out.” He opened the passenger door and watched as she strode into the house, ignoring his words completely. “Or not” he thought. 

Lucifer walked into Lux, skillfully avoiding the avid drinkers, fornicators and other beautiful people that the club attracted. He signaled Maze to bring him a drink as he took up residence in his private booth, kicking the Brittany’s out so that he could be alone with his thoughts. “Mazzie, you would not believe who I saw at that dreadfully boring charity event I foolishly agreed to attend.” He took a long drink of his whiskey and leaned back, leaving only his glowing red eyes visible.

Maze sat the glass and bottle down in front of him with a frown. “Who?” she asked, suspiciously, wondering what had her boss so interested.

“My little brother’s pet killer Miryam. And it appears that all is not well in Heaven despite what Amenadiel would have us believe. I smell trouble in paradise.” He smiled wickedly at his demon bartender, swirling the drink in his glass appreciatively. “Life in L.A. just got much more interesting.” He offered a mock toast to the sky as he considered how best to take advantage of this situation.

Chloe stopped at the precinct just long enough to start a search on the name Miryam Sealgair, looking for something … something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. The woman had seemed very cozy with Lucifer, like most women were around the handsome bar owner, but there had been something different about her, something harder in the depths of her eyes when she had told them the name of her victim. Something she had associated more with Lucifer’s ninja bodyguard / bartender Mazikeen than with any of the women she had known him to bed. “So who are you Ms. Sealgair? And what do you know …” The search screeched to a halt, links to various newspaper articles popping up on her screen. Most were not in English but one was from the British paper the Telegraph. It was a story about a human trafficking ring that had been broken on the continent by Interpol and other police organizations. The story was brief but it was the photo that was interesting. It showed someone being led away to a police car, surrounded by uniformed officers and in the midst of all the officials was the tall figure of Miryam Sealgair. 

Next Day

Morning came quickly and for once Lucifer didn’t make Chloe wait when she picked him up from the club. She didn’t even make it as far as the club entrance before he came barreling out of the door, jacket in hand. “No use in antagonizing the girl” he had said, stretching out in her passenger seat. “She has a nasty temper when she’s tired.”

“How long have you known her?” Chloe asked, stealing a quick glance at her companion as she negotiated the quickest route to the address she had been given. 

“Oh, probably since she was born” he commented, staring out the window. “I’ve watched her grow up.”

“Really? You two look around the same age.” She frowned, trying to figure out how her elusive partner could have “watched her grow up” when he was probably no more than a few years older than she was.

“I’m older than I look – so is she. She belonged to my little brother but he frankly was such a stick in the mud I always felt sorry for the girl. We sometimes are on opposite sides of an argument but frankly I’ve always been very comfortable with her. She’s quite the blood thirsty little thing.” He grinned, not looking back at her. “And no, I’m not going to dish dirt on my friend. If you have questions, ask her. She’ll either answer or not.”

“What do you mean she belonged to your little brother? Was she his daughter?” Chloe asked, taking the exit the Google Maps instructions had listed. She had researched the directions right before going to bed last night. It turned out the owner of the house was listed as a multinational corporation – Dragon Industries which was owned by mysterious CEO Damien Dragon. The house located in an isolated area accessible only by private roads was used as a corporate retreat. Chloe wondered what relationship Lucifer’s friend had with the corporation. 

“Not exactly. She…belonged to him. It’s hard to explain. You might ask her but I wouldn’t count on her explaining it.” He stared at the scenery, quietly closing down the conversation. They continued down the road for another hour in total silence. For the last twenty minutes they were the only car on the road. 

The house appeared around the bend of the road, an impressive log home that sat surrounded by trees. A satellite dish was mounted on the side of the house, larger than the normal commercial ones, making more of the world accessible to the occupants of the home. An expensive looking Bentley sat in front of the house, a cover over it to protect it from dew and birds. “We’re here!” Lucifer crowed, throwing the car door open almost before Chloe had stopped. She threw the car into park and followed him to the door. 

Draco met them at the entrance, waving them into join his employer on the back porch. “She’s been on the phone most of the night. Needless to say, she’s a little testy.” The older man aimed the last comment at Lucifer, raising one bushy eyebrow at the man.

“We’re just here to take a statement, nothing more” Chloe said, shooting a warning at her unpredictable partner. 

“Oh very well, I’ll be good – or as good as the Devil can be.” He walked past his two companions and out to the porch. Miryam was seated in a chaise staring at nothing, a coffee cup in one hand and a far-away look in her eyes. She was dressed less formally than she had been the night before, black t-shirt and black jeans. Her dark hair was pulled up in a ponytail, a red leather cord braided through it. “Good morning, sweetie.” Lucifer sang out, approaching the woman with a please grin.

Miryam looked up and returned his smile. “Good morning, Morningstar. I see you brought your friend with you.” She nodded to Chloe in greeting.

Chloe stepped around Lucifer and looked down at the young woman. “You said you might have something to tell us about our victim from last night?”

Miryam reached beside her and handed the detective a tablet. “I’ve downloaded the task force files and my own personal notes. The first document will tell you most of what you need to know about your victim – if you can still call him that after you’ve read what I’m providing to you.”

Chloe frowned as she began to read, Lucifer reading over her shoulder. A feeling of nausea flowed over as she read the details of what had been discovered during the investigation. So many victims, young men and women, even children had disappeared only to be found sold into brothels or buried in unmarked graves. There was more information but she had read enough. “So our dead body was a rapist, a pedophile, and a human trafficker who sold innocents into sexual slavery. Lovely. This doesn’t narrow down my suspects at all, does it?”

“No – in fact it probably widens the field.” Miryam sighed, laying her coffee cup on the table beside her. “You will need to look at any of the victims we might have kept from being sold – and there were quite a number of them that disappeared after we set them free. There are also family or other loved ones of people who disappeared into the trafficker’s nets. And of course there are your deceased’s family who have probably paid a pretty penny to break their son out of our custody to keep him from dragging their family reputation through the mud.” She sighed deeply. “I knew it was a mistake not to kill him while we had the chance.”

“Told you so” a cheerful voice echoed from behind them. Chloe turned to see another tall figure stride out of the shadows, dressed similarly to Miryam in dark t-shirt and dark jeans. She blinked, staring hard as the figure emerged into the light. His brown eyes shone with mischief, his hair was long and a beard and mustache framed his handsome face but in many ways – he looked a great deal like Lucifer. “Hello sissy! Miss me?”


	5. Pt. 5 – Meet the family

Chloe gaped. The man could be Lucifer’s brother with the same arragont, entitled attitude, the same “I’d like to get in your pants” smile. His accent seemed generic in comparison to Lucifer’s British one but even with this difference the tone was similar. Beside her Lucifer frowned, staring at the new arrival. “Hello Andre. I was hoping to not see you again.” He glared down at Miryam, crossing his arms across his chest. “Is this going to be a family reunion? Will we see your firebird brother as well?”

“Nope” Andre replied, walking over to place a kiss on Miryam’s forehead before shoving her over and sitting with her on the chaise. He gave Chloe a once over, taking in with a grin every wrinkle in her clothing and every hair out of place. “That boy is the ultimate CEO – always has something in the works that he has to oversee and dang if he doesn’t have to do it personally. This isn’t even a blip on his radar.”

“And, of course, there isn’t anything for him to hunt down and kill” Miryam replied. She smiled reassuringly at Chloe. “At least, not yet. Detective, may I introduce my twin brother Andre. Andre, this is Detective Chloe Decker. She is investigating the death of Maxim Leblanc here in L.A.”

“Why bother?” Andre asked, coldly. “He was a waste of flesh. Someone did the world a favor.” He stretched out on the chaise, wrapping his arm around his sister.

“We probably should have offed him when we took down the warehouse.” Miryam gently removed his arm and reached out to take the tablet back from Chloe. “I think we might have some of the security footage from that raid on here somewhere.”

“Really?” Lucifer perked up immediately. “Can we see? I’ll bet you turned into quite the blood-thirsty little minx.”

Chloe shook her head, holding up her hands in denial. “No, that’s okay. I’ll pass. What else did your contacts say about Mr. Leblanc? Did they mention why he was sent to Los Angeles.”

Andre looked pointedly at Draco who sighed and poured him a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table. “Thanks, old man.” Andre replied, happily taking a sip of the inky liquid. “I remember reading something when we were doing backgrounds on our suspected cartel members about Leblanc’s mother having family in Los Angeles. I think her maiden name might have been Crane or Cramer. She married into the old Leblanc family, bringing some new blood into the old line. But I think it was something of a lost cause. The whole lot were crazy as loons and entitled asses on top of that.”

Miryam glared down at the coffee cup in his hand. “You do know Draco’s in service to me not you – right? Drogo serves our brother and Draco serves me – that was what we agreed on when we put our brother in power, remember?”

Andre sighed dramtically. “And no one looks after me. Quel dommage! Poor me!” He grinned wickedly at Chloe, winking as he took another sip of his coffee.

Chloe and Miryam both rolled their eyes. “Lucifer, are you sure he’s not related to you?” Chloe asked, swiping through the various documents on the tablet. “Did any of your contacts find out how he got out of the jail?”

“Still waiting for a call from Ray. He was going to look into how the piece of excrement managed to slip out the country.” Miryam shifted to better look at the detective when time suddenly seemed to slow down. The sound of huge wings filled the space and a bright light flowed down from Heaven. Suddenly two tall, winged figures appeared, landing just off the porch. One was a well-muscled blonde with vivid blue eyes. The other was dark and intense, the opposite of his companion. Both wore armor and held bladed weapons, weapons they immediately aimed at Lucifer.

Lucifer smiled thinly. “Well, well – old home week indeed. Hello Michael. Hello Gabriel.”


	6. Pt. 6 – old arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note - the main character in this story and the main character in "War Rider" are similar because I'm re-imaging that world.

The blonde, Michael, stared at Lucifer coldly. “We are not here for you today, brother. We are here to speak to Miryam.”

Miryam frowned. “Didn’t you get the memo? Your presence is not required here. And, in case that’s not enough for you, I don’t speak to hypocrites and cold-hearted oath breakers.” She rose and, taking her brother’s cup, helped herself to more coffee from the carafe while turning her back to her angelic guests.

Lucifer raised one eyebrow and looked at Andre who shook his head and laid his finger on his lips. “Let them argue” Andre whispered. “This won’t take long and should prove interesting.” He grinned at the Lord of Hell. “Pity we don’t have popcorn. This will be entertaining.”

Lucifer took up Miryam’s spot on the chaise and shared a grin with Andre. “Yes, it certainly will be.”

“I am no oath breaker!” Michael snarled, his wings flaring angrily. He stepped forward as though grab her then stopped himself, not trusting himself not to hurt her. “You know I have never broken my pledge to you!”

“Really? How about when you “informed” me that the Lord had agreed to allow you to pledge yourself as my consort? You made it sound like it was something you wanted, something from your heart but the reality is you decided that your idea might keep me on a leash and not thinking too far out of the box. How about when you told me you would be back after you led the Dogs of Heaven in the extermination of the human’s of that alternate realm? You flat out lied to me, you never planned on coming back from that one. I died at your brother’s hands trying to protect you. I DIED, Michael! Did that mean anything to you?”

Gabriel flinched, his handsome face troubled. “I never meant to hurt you. You have to know that. I didn’t see you until it was too late, too late to pull back my strike.”

Miryam dismissed his words with a snort. “I’m not talking to you, Gabriel. I’m talking to your beloved brother. Do you need more to explain my attitude, Michael? How about when your Father returned you to his favor and gave you back you wings? Did you ask him where I would be re-born? Did you ask him where I was sent or whether I was alright? No – you just turned your back on Heaven so that you and Gabriel could fight your bloody stupid war to protect those mortals who turned on you and eviscerated the ones of your kind that trusted you. And the one who betrayed you was the same one you broke your oath of celibacy for, the same actions you condemned the Watchers for. So guess what – yes, you are an oath breaker and a hypocrite.”

“Brother” Gabriel grabbed his companion’s arm, restraining him as he moved angrily towards the young woman. “Peace. She’s in pain from our actions and is trying to agitate you.” The dark haired angel looked at the woman as she carefully poured a large amount of sugar in her cup. “If you must be angry with anyone, then be angry with me. It was my blade that started this quarrel.”

Miryam dropped the spoon loudly onto the tray. “Oh no, dear, dear Gabriel. He doesn’t get to push off his guilt on you. You have enough to be responsible for.” She turned and handed the coffee cup to Lucifer, then stared back at Michael. “Understand me, Prince of Heaven; you are no longer my teacher, my mentor or my consort. You are not even my friend anymore. So go home and talk to your Father. Maybe he can make you understand what you did that broke my heart and led me away from you.”

Michael’s face was stony, his eyes blazing. “Whatever your issues with me at least have the sense to not associate with the Fallen. The Prince of Hell will lead you into Darkness. You will be lost and there will be nothing any of us will be able to do to save you.”

Miryam laughed bitterly. “He has never lied to me, unlike you. He’s never used me for the “greater good”, unlike you. Shall I go on?”

“Enough” Draco’s voice surprised both Lucifer and the angels. “A human monster has been killed and others of his ilk skulk in the shadows. My mistress and her brother are here to hunt these animals down. Lucifer currently works with mortal authorities to catch and punish just these sorts of monsters. He, at least, can be useful to this hunt. You can not, not with this quarrel between you. Go home, Princes of Heaven, go home and let my mistress do her job.” 

Miryam looked back at the old man with affection. “My sweet dragon – always trying to look out for me. I don’t deserve such love and loyalty. I truly don’t.” She sighed and walked past Michael, studiously avoiding touching him. She laid a hand on Gabriel’s armor, running her fingers up his arm and over to his cheek. She looked up at him. “Go home, sweet Gabriel. Go home and take your brother with you. Now is not the time for this.”

The dark-haired angel leaned into her caress, his eyes pained. “If you need us, my sister…if you need me…”

“I know where to find you” she laughed softly, turning away from the brothers.

Gabriel sighed and gently pulled his brother back towards himself. “It is time to go, brother.”

Michael refused to move, his eyes riveted to the slender form standing beside the chaise. “How can I leave her?” He reached out and touched her long hair gently, wincing as she shrugged him off. “Please, if you will not let me stay then let Gabriel remain at your back. Or let me send one of my other brothers to help you.”

“She doesn’t need your help” Lucifer quipped. “She has Detective Decker and me, of course. Oh yes – and her twin brother here.” He jerked a finger at the doppelganger seated beside him, who gave the agitated archangels a toothy grin.

“Yeah – why don’t you two take a long walk off a short pier? Luci and I can take care of things just fine without you. Right, bro?” Andre looked over at Lucifer, one eyebrow cocked, a wicked expression on his face.

Lucifer gave the assembled group the same false smile as the man beside him. “Right, bro. Now sod off, the pair of you. We have wrong doers to punish.” His eyes glowed red with delight.

Michael took a step towards the chaise, his eyes blazing. “Have a care, young dragon. You are my brother’s student, the foster son he has watched over from your birth, but that will not protect you if you let this animal touch my lady.”

Miryam whirled and punched the archangel in the center of his armored chest. “I. Am. NOT. YOUR. LADY!!! I am your father’s creature, the guardian he has set to protect his creations. I answer first to him and then to my elder brother. ONLY TO THEM! Now go, be gone from my sight.” She waved a dismissive hand at the two then turned and planted herself in her brother’s lap, her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder with closed eyes.

Time returned to normal with almost gale force winds, knocking pictures off walls and strewing papers around the room. 

Chloe blinked, trying to make sense of the sudden changes in the scene before her. She could have sworn that Lucifer had been standing beside her and that Miryam had been sharing the chaise with her brother. Now, all three were sharing the seat. Miryam’s expression was grim but the two men were sharing a silly grin. “What just happened?” she asked in confusion.

The ringing of the phone saved anyone from having to explain. Draco picked it up and checked. “It’s Ray.”

Miryam looked up from her brother’s lap. “Put it on speaker” she commanded, sliding out of the chaise. 

“Inspector? C’est Moi, Raymond” a male voice drifted from the phone. 

“What did you find out?” Miryam asked sternly. “Who am I going to have deal with over this?”

“It was a young officer who had been drafted into service the night we raided the warehouse. His name was Philip Reins, and he had been in service only a few years.” The voice sounded nervous, his accent growing more pronounced as he spoke.

“What was he given for this betrayal?” Lucifer asked, his pleasant voice belaying his stern expression.

“Inspector?” Raymond sounded hesitant to answer the stranger on the line.

“Tell the man what he wants to know” Miryam called out, angrily. “I’d be very interested to know that as well.”

“The boy was his family’s only wage earner and his parents had massive debts from bad investments. He was given enough money to provide for his family and wipe out that debt. All he had to do was close his eyes when the prisoner was being transferred, and he did. Sadly, we can not ask him who approached him.” Raymond’s voice turned sad. “The boy could not live with what he had done. Shortly after the transfer he killed himself with his own gun.”

Miryam and Andre looked at each other warily. “You’re sure of that?”

The man’s voice sounded hesitant as he answered. “No, Inspector, I’m not sure. I have feelers out but…”

“Turn your investigation over to Tristan and walk away from it. He’s less likely to be targeted if he finds something. Send me what you found as well.” Miryam hung up and sighed in frustration. “Well, there went our only lead.”

“Maybe not.” Chloe said, shaking the cobwebs from her mind. “Our victim had to get to the dinner somehow. We didn’t find a car, and I’ve got feelers out to taxi companies to see if anyone was called for him. There was no ID with the body, no money with him, so someone maybe wanted to make it look like a mugging but that doesn’t really make much sense. There were several other guests with much more obviously affluent than this guy was so why pick on him. He had had an invitation to the party so someone had to know where to find him to send it to him.” 

“Perhaps that’s where he was killed” Miryam mused. “I didn’t get a good enough look at the body to see what killed him but there was little blood where he lay so I’m thinking this was a body dump.”

Chloe looked at the other woman with interest. “Fits with what I heard from the Coroner’s office before I picked up Lucifer. Multiple stab wounds, last one was probably the fatal one. Seemed like overkill.” She looked back at the tablet Miryam was holding with a frown. “He also had to have money from somewhere to be able to live here in L.A. Any chance your people can help with the money trail?”

“Possibly” Miryam responded slowly. “His family would have had to set up some sort of account he could draw from for him. I have friends who can do a little digging looking for that.”

“Sound dreadfully boring” Lucifer complained, looking over at his double. “What say you and I go back to my club until the detective or your sister find something more in-line with our talents.”

“Got any good Scotch?” Andre asked. “I’m in the mood for a shot of the good stuff. Monasteries tend not to deal with alcohol other than the medicinal stuff. Gets really boring.”

“Of course” Lucifer replied happily. “You know – you are much more interesting close-up then you were before. Tell me again why I didn’t like you?”

“Probably something to do with Gabriel being my guardian” Andre shrugged, unconcerned. “Things change.”

“They most certainly do.” Miryam agreed somberly. “They most certainly do.”


	7. Pt. 7  Searching for the truth

Chloe called into the station to let her lieutenant know what her status was and ask about using some of Interpol’s resources to track down her killer. Miryam also began the tedious task of gathering information about how the victim Leblanc had arrived in L.A. and where he had been staying. She knew that Decker’s lieutenant would have no objection to her interference as she had made a few strategic calls the night before to make sure she would be allowed to help. Both women agreed that Lucifer and his body double should return to Lux until they were needed. The two men had begun telling stories that were rapidly turning bawdy and distracting. “We’ll call you when we get to something more interesting.” Chloe said in exasperation. “I’m sure you two can find something to occupy you.”

“Maze will be delighted to entertain my friend here” Lucifer crowed. “She’ll be so pleased I brought her home something special.”

“Andre” Miryam looked at her brother in concern. “You do know what Mazikeen is, right? And you do remember what happened the last time Arial found you with another woman?”

“Probably want to join in – we both have exotic taste” her brother replied, a knowing smile on his face. Lucifer smiled in approval. “And Lucifer did say he had some good booze.”

Miryam rolled her eyes. “Children. They are both children.” She waved a hand in their direction turning back to her tablet. “Go, amuse yourselves while the adults work. Do you need Draco to take you to the club?”

“Nah – I’ve got my Corvette. We’ll use it.” Andre popped off the chaise and held a hand out to his better dressed opposite number. “Let’s go, old man, and see what damage we can do.”

“Old Man? I’ll show you old man” Lucifer growled, grabbing the man’s hand and pulling himself up. “Do call me when you find something interesting, Detective.” The two men sauntered out, playfully insulting one another as they went.

“Oh, thank God” Miryam sighed, looking up at the sky with a small smile. “Those two would make me insane if they stayed around here. Research isn’t either of their forte.”

Chloe smiled. “Are you sure we should leave them alone? Who knows what kind of trouble they can get into.”

Miryam shrugged. “I can always call my older brother to mediate if they go too crazy. Andre, at least, will defer to Damien’s authority. So – first we need to find out how he got here and where he was staying. That might be our crime scene and I’d like to get into it before someone cleans up after themselves. My task force team mate Tristan maybe able to help with that. I’ll contact him and have him see if he can find out how LeBlanc ended up in L.A.” She nodded to Draco who immediately started flipping through her contacts list.

“Considering how influential you said LeBlanc’s family is will this put him in a dangerous spot?” Chloe said, wondering just how powerful the victim’s family really was. Living in L.A. she had seen the influence money and fame could have on the legal system. Having a victim from an influential family, even one that had no ties to the U.S., could make solving this case even more difficult than it normally would be.

Miryam smiled thinly. “It doesn’t really matter how much power they think they have. Tristan also comes from a wealth old family so trying to push him around would not be a wise move on their parts. So…let’s get to work.”

Outside Lucifer eyed Andre’s Corvette with appreciation. “Nice. So, what did you think about my brothers little visit?” He settled himself in the passenger’s seat and eyed his companion with interest. It was an odd feeling, looking at essentially himself, even if his doppelganger was a messier version of the face he was use to seeing.

“Didn’t take you long to go there” Andre said, putting the car in gear and starting down the road. “I have to admit – I didn’t expect them to drop into the mix like that. Especially after she called Michael out in Vega when she found him with the bitch that was responsible for dissecting the higher angels in the city.”

“Yes, my little brother showed remarkable bad taste in his choice of bedmates with that one” Lucifer commented coldly.

“Preaching to the choir here” Andre replied, his voice equally cold. “I knew one of those angels who got chopped up. Met him when I was chasing after my twin – he was a good guy. Didn’t deserve what he got even if he did go home to your Father. And your idiot brothers - the pair of them - hurt my sister in different ways so let’s just say Heaven’s residents aren’t high on my list of people to trust.”

“Don’t let my little brother Amenadiel hear you say that” Lucifer snorted. “He’ll try to send you to Hell as well as me.” The idea of his up-tight brother facing off to this particular guardian amused him no end. “I’d give real money to see that discussion.”

“Yeah I heard you were taking a break from the pit. Works for me – at least you and I can have some fun, a thing that is missing from my sister’s life right now. She’s been pretty depressed since coming back from Vega.” He drove quietly for a moment, watching the scenery go by without really seeing it. “I hate when she doesn’t smile.”

Lucifer looked over at that familiar face and thought back to the dance last night. Miryam had seemed a little quiet, not the hell raiser he remembered from previous meetings. “Not to worry. My feather-brained siblings are gone and you and I are going to hunt down some very evil creatures to punish. That should make her feel better.”

“Hell yeah” Andre laughed, putting the car on the fast track back to town. “I could use a bloody good hunt right now. Let’s go loose the hounds and see what they scare up.”

Lucifer laughed as the road took them back home.

In the Heavenly Realm

Gabriel and Michael returned to Heaven with a flash of light and a whirl of feathered wings. Michael pushed away from his brother, his face grim. “Enough brother. I’m not in need of restraint.”

Gabriel jerked his hands away with a sigh. “I’m not restraining you. All I was trying to do was keep you from making the situation worse. Her anger will not allow her to hear anything either of us have to say. And her brother…”

“Your fosterling” Michael said quietly. “I’ve come between the two of you. My apologies, my brother. It seems it’s not enough for me to create havoc around myself but I’ve hurt you as well.” 

“I fear it’s a clean sweep of the Triad” a grim voice floated out of the ether. Uriel, “Light of God”, Archangel Scholar, came to join his siblings. “My foster is claiming he will no longer speak to me as well, a sign of loyalty to his sister. I know he's only saying it to appease his sister but ... it hurts all the same. It seems the only one of us that is acceptable company in the land of Fae and Magic is our brother Raphael, who also refuses to get in the middle of any of this.” Uriel frowned at his brothers, shifting the scroll he’d been handling from one hand to the other. 

“I must speak to Father” Michael said quietly. “Miryam was right, I should have sought his guidance when this all started.” His wings spread wide and he disappeared in a flourish of feathers. 

“Did you see them?” Uriel asked Gabriel, his voice tense. “Did you see our brother Lucifer? Amenadial has spoken of the Morningstar’s abandonment of Hell. Yet Father permits it. Why?”

“I do not know. Hopefully Father will see fit to let Michael know what he wants us to do.” Gabriel’s shoulders sagged. He could not bear to see his sibling in so much pain – made all the more unbearable by the fact that his actions had been the start of it all. The end of that world had been the start of this and now, somehow, he needed to find a way to make things right again.


	8. Pt. 8 – past and present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The flashback is a view of a scene from the movie "Legion" - there will be more later in the story.

Miryam sighed as she reviewed the information sent to her by her task force contacts. It was turning out to be pretty much as she feared. There was a money trail into the states leading to a bank and from the bank to a realtor in L.A. The source of the money was pretty much what she had expected. The paper trail was long and twisted but ultimately it had led right back to LeBlanc’s family. It would be hard but not impossible to prove that the family had been supporting LeBlanc’s life in L.A. despite his being an escapee from a charge of human trafficking. Yet despite all of the problems with this murder, the only thing that Miryam could seem to think about was the confrontation with Michael and Gabriel. Seeing the two archangels brought back uncomfortable memories. Memories of that day, so long ago, when God finally had enough of being insulted and ignored by his most beloved creation and sent lower angels (the Dogs of Heaven) to exterminate the world. Memories of one archangel’s stand to save humanity and the price they both would pay to preserve mankind.

Flashback – at the Paradise Falls dinner

A hunting horn sounded, warning of an approaching entity. “We need to leave. The possessed can’t come near the child but Father is sending someone who can. Someone like me.” Michael’s voice was urgent as he tried to steer them towards the door. Miryam frowned, looking at her friend. She had followed Michael from the land of the Sidhe, angry that he had lied to her about his plans for this mission. He hadn’t mentioned cutting off his wings to blend in with the mortal realm, hadn’t mentioned taking up arms to kill humans possessed by lower order of angels – an army that he was supposed to have led but had refused at the last minute. He hadn’t mentioned a child whose birth would be the turning point to save the world – but only if it survived. So many things he hadn’t spoken of before taking his leave of her. Now, it would seem, another of the angelic realm was coming to finish what Michael had been unwilling to taken on.

“Someone like you?” Bob, the owner of the café, looked at the angel with suspicion, his voice tight and angry.

“You were supposed to kill the baby? That was the order you couldn’t obey.” Jeep, Bob’s son, showed in his face that he finally understood the situation, understood the conversation he previously had with Michael. He took up his place protectively beside child’s mother Charlie, the café’s young waitress.

The horn sounded again, rattling the shelves and throwing dust up into the air. Miryam looked at Michael, comprehension dawning on her pretty face. “It’s Gabriel, isn’t it? He’s the one who is coming.” She shook her head in dismay. “This nightmare gets worse and worse. Gabriel will follow your Father’s orders no matter what!”

“We need to go NOW.” Michael said, pushing Miryam ahead of him. Her appearance here had rattled him at first. The last thing he had expected with this immortal guardian, his fosterling and friend, was for her to leave her sanctuary in defiance of his father’s will. Their relationship had been prickly, ever since God had tasked him with the teaching of a wild, sixteen year old runaway girl, instructing her in the arts of War so that she would one day be a Guardian of her fellow human. Despite all their differences he had come to care for the girl, perhaps more than had been appropriate. He had found himself unable to bear the idea of being in her presence with the blood of Adam’s descendants on his hands, the blood of creatures who she had once been a part of. It had not occurred to him that she would be angry with him for leaving her behind but now he was glad she had decided to take a stand to support him. She could keep the child safe where he could not.

“Wait, what are you talking about” Charlie asked angrily. “Answer me, what are you talking about?” Charlie had only just given birth to her son, the child Michael had said he was here to protect. Now she was hearing the rest of the story and it was filling her with rage. 

“The baby was never meant to be born” Michael said softly, moving slowly towards Charlie, holding out his hands in front of him as though approaching a frightened animal. “But he does and while he lives there is hope.”

Charlie glared at Michael, her hormones raging and her body aching from the stain of just giving birth. She turned to Audrey, the teenager girl whose family had been caught up in this siege, holding out her arms. “Audrey, give me the baby.”

That’s when it all started to go sideways. Audrey’s mother Sandra jumped out of the chair she had been tied to and snatched the child from her daughter’s arms. Sandra had not coped with the horrors her family had been forced to endure, between the constant attacks by the possessed and her husband’s ultimate death at the hands of these creatures. They had been forced to tie her to a chair when she had opened the door to the café trying to reach her doomed husband. The birth of the child had taken the group’s attention away from her and somehow she had managed to work herself free from her bonds. Now she stood at the café door, with the child in her arms, beckoning to her teenage daughter. “Audrey, come with me” she ordered, backing towards the door. “Come with me!” she insisted. But the teenager stood stock still, shock on her young face.

Michael aimed a gun at the woman’s face, his face cold and determined. Miryam followed his moves, fixating on the door behind the desperate woman and the light that was starting to build up behind the frame.

“What are you doing?” Bob asked, stunned.

“You heard them, they just want the baby. I’m going to give them the baby. Then they will let us go.” Sandra inched backwards toward the door, her eyes fixed on Michael. 

“You give him back to me. Give him back to me right now.” Charlie moved towards Sandra, anger on her face.

“Why? You didn’t want him in the first place.” Sandra screeched. “Audrey, come with me. Once I give them the baby they will let us go.” She stared pleadingly at her daughter and the others. “It’s just one baby. It’s just one baby!”

The door to the café blew open and Michael took the shot, putting a bullet right between her eyes. The baby rolled from her limp arms as she collapsed, pulled backwards by the force of the door’s explosion. Jeep dove to the ground and caught the child before it hit the ground. A shape appeared in the doorway, his dark wings filling the space around the doorway. Gabriel, Messenger of God, had arrived.

Gabriel looked down at Jeep and the baby with a sneer and swung his mace at the prone figure, missing by inches. Jeep rolled out of the way and handed the child to Charlie and pushed her towards the back door. Bob opened fire but was soon cut down by the angel’s metal-tipped wings. He back-handed Bob across the diner. The mortal fell beside his stove and lay still.

Michael glanced down at Miryam. “Get them moving” he whispered. “I’ll deal with Gabriel.”

Miryam nodded silently and herded the survivors towards the back door, shoving a set of keys into Jeeps hands. “Go! I’ve got to stay and try to work this out. The afflicted won’t touch you now that the baby’s been born.”

Audrey looked at the young woman who had been fighting beside them for the last two days. “Come with us!” she begged.

“I can’t” Miryam gently shoved her after Charlie and her baby. “I need to try to work this out before it gets any worse. They won’t talk to one another but maybe they will talk to me. Maybe I can get this to stop.” She shrugged. “I have to at least try. Now go, and be safe.” She watched as the three ran to the police car then turned back to the sound of the start of the fight.

Michael and Gabriel were already in the midst of their battle when Miryam joined them. She watched in horror as the brothers battled each other, neither willing to back down to the other. Gabriel sent Michael flying back and started to swing his bladed mace against his dazed sibling. “NO! Gabe, stop!” she screamed, launching herself at his back.

Gabriel turned suddenly, his edged wings flaring out as she reached for him, one tip catching her arm before he could stop. His mace swung wildly, a blade from the weapon burying itself in her chest with a thud. Miryam stopped suddenly, looking down blankly as blood sprayed out from the gaping wound. She looked up at the angels, her eyes rolling to the back of her head and the world began to tilt as she slid to the ground. As she fell she could hear voices screaming her name. “NO!!!” Michael’s voice seemed dim and far away even though she could feel his strong arms around her as lay in her own blood. 

“I couldn’t stop” Gabriel’s voice was pained. “I didn’t even know she was there. Sister, you know I would never hurt you.” He reached out and laid a trembling hand on her arm, only to be pushed away by his sibling. 

“Don’t touch her” Michael snarled, holding her against his chest. He looked skyward. “Father, please! Punish me, not her. I am to blame here; it was my decision to refuse to lead your troops. She only came to be my shield. Her loyalty to me should not lead to this. She doesn’t deserve to be punished.”

Miryam tried to reach out to both angels, her breathing ragged. “So tired” she whispered. “So tired. It’s enough. Please, both of you, enough. Stop. Please stop!” Her voice trailed off and her arm fell away as her heart stopped beating, ending her pain. The body suddenly glittered in tiny lights, like multiple fireflies, and disappeared from Michael’s arms. Disappeared and re-appeared … elsewhere.

Back in L.A.

Miryam shook her head, the memory of that moment still painful. She touched the spot on her chest where the blade had pierced her heart, rubbing the small scar that stood as a reminder of that night. “Not now” she muttered, reaching for her jacket and scooping up her tablet from the desk. “I can’t think about that right now.” She strolled out to the Bentley where Draco was waiting for her. “Take me to Detective Decker’s precinct” she commanded. “Tristan has sent me information that she needs to hear. And I fear I must warn her about what else is likely to occur.”

Draco nodded and slid into the driver’s seat, turning the car down the road to town. “Should we call your brother and let Andre and Lucifer know what you have found?”

She snorted in amusement. “If those two are still sober it will be a miracle. No, I think the good Detective and I need to work out a strategy for this investigation before we pull our boys into what may end up being a wild hunt.”


	9. Pt. 9 – Back stories

At Lux

Lucifer and Andre strolled into Lux side by side, snickering at some joke one of them had made about a sidewalk preacher they had just passed, a man who had been preaching about the end of days in front of the decadent club. Lucifer had flashed his red, hell fire eyes at the man who had turned in panic to find Andre eyeing him over the top of his dark glasses, his eyes slitted like a reptile and a smoke ring rising from his nose. The man’s panic had caused him to throw his “donations” into the street as scrambled away from the two amused beings who walked away giggling.

“I have to admit” Andre said, hopping up on a bar stool, “it really makes my day to screw with guys like that. I really, really hate phonies. They annoy the hell out of me – no pun intended.” Once inside the club, the resemblance to Lucifer was muted. Where Lucifer was expensively dressed and well groomed, this man was rougher with a five o’clock shadow, shaggy hair, jeans and a t-shirt. A thin, dark cigarillo dangled between his fingers. 

“Nice bit with the eyes out there” Lucifer commented, looking into his guest’s face with an amused expression. “Have anything to do with your bloodline?” 

Andre shrugged. “Spirit animal is a Chinese Dragon – every so often some part of him comes out to play. Better the eyes than other parts of him.” He leaned on one hand, eyeing Mazikeen with interest, who was examining him as well. “So, Lilim – right? Descendant of Lilith, Adam’s first old lady?” He smiled provocatively, his perfect teeth gleaming in his tanned face.

Mazikeen raised one eyebrow. This man was an echo of Lucifer, not the light of the Morningstar but something close. She knew all the Fallen, Lucifer’s siblings, and she didn’t remember any of them looking so much like this creature. She leaned in closer to get a better look then jerked back, surprised, at the sight of the tattoo on his neck, a name in a delicate Enochian script that all but screamed his identity. “Not happening, kid” she snarled then looked at her employer in annoyance. “Is this who I think it is?” 

“Gabriel’s fosterling” Lucifer agreed with an eerily similar smile. “And one of the Triad, descendants of the Watchers, given over to my brothers by my Father to train to protect his most beloved creations – the descendants of Adam. Or at least that is who he was. Now… well, things change.” He reached across the bar and pulled up two bottles. “So, whiskey or scotch?” he offered, pulling up a chair beside his guest. He looked at his doppelganger’s face, mentally ticking off the similarities and differences between the two of them and wondering if Gabriel had imprinted any of his own personality on the boy. 

“I’m good with either” Andre replied agreeably. He glanced over at the piano in the center of the club. “You play?” he asked, hopping off his chair and drifting over to the instrument, admiring it without touching.

“Yes – do you play?” Lucifer asked, taking two glasses and a bottle of scotch from Maze and joining his guest. He handed one to Andre and put the other on the piano, being careful to put something under it to protect the wood. The bottle he placed carefully under the piano, out of range of errant feet.

“Nope – that would be my sister. I’m more a string man myself. Guitars, violins, oboe, any of the above. No harp, though. Bad connotations. I like to jam with Miryam on piano and our brother on drums.” He ran a finger along the length of the piano, examining it carefully. ‘Nice instrument, though.”

Lucifer began to play absently, not really picking anything in particular to fill the silence. “You know, I’ve always wondered how you and your sister ended up fostered to my brothers.” He reached up and took a drink, motioning to Maze to join them. 

“You probably know the story better than I do.” Andre shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m not sure of all the details. Family history is Miryam’s thing, not mine. Near as I can tell – we all have some bit of angelic blood, something to do with the Watchers? Our brother Damien and I also have some Fae blood so we are more “magic” users than she is.” He took a sip of his drink, watching the hammers strike the strings inside the body of the piano as it was played. “It was some sort of prophecy put out by who the hell know who. There would be three children of angelic blood, marked with the name of the archangel who would be their guide, born to the world of men but not OF the world of men. They would be raised, trained, and ultimately die trying to protect life. And if they did all that right they would be re-born with their free-will intact, immortal, powerful and saddled with protecting all those little mortals who are God’s favored creatures whether they were worthy of protection or not. Blah, blah, blah ... you know the drill.” He raised a glass to the heavens sarcastically. “Thanks Boss.”

“You were born with Gabriel’s name so how did that define your part of the Triad?” Lucifer asked, leaning forward to look at his guest. He did know the story – or at least some of the story, having heard it from some of the Watchers involved – but hearing it now from one of the Triad made it much more interesting, even if the other man seemed loath to tell much more than the bare bones story.

“I’m the martial artist – the hand to hand fighter. I’m also the Healer – the alchemist of the group. And strangely enough - I'm the tech nerd. Anything tech related makes me smile. Dark web specialist, hacker and all around bad boy of the tech world - that's me. Our older brother Damien was born with Uriel’s name on his arm. He is the strategist, the planner, the one who figures out the how and why of a target and how to take it down. He makes all the blood decisions and we make it happen. Real hard-ass but he makes a good king - I guess.” 

“What part does your sister play?” Maze asked, curious despite herself. She stood just to one side of their guest, watching him warily. It was disconcerting to see Lucifer and his doppelganger together, two sides to the same coin.

“She was born with Michael’s name across her temple. It’s pretty much invisible unless you look really close – which maybe why he took so long to find her. She is the negotiator, the diplomat of the family” Andre laughed in spite of himself. “Which is funny if you know my sister. She is SO not anything like her mentor. Rules are “suggestions” to her. Miryam’s got as much of a temper as I do and can be as unreasonable as our elder brother. Tack the fact that’s she a weapons specialist and things get really fun when she looses her temper.”

“Sounds like a fun family situation” Lucifer agreed. “It’s odd though. It’s like Uriel and Michael’s names were put on the wrong child. Shouldn’t Miryam have been Uriel’s student and your brother Michael’s child?”

Andre snorted with amusement. “Yeah – like that would have worked. My sister is beyond hard headed – she would have made Uriel crazy. Thing is, both Gabriel and Uriel had their students in their sights from the time my brother and I were babies. But Michael – he didn’t find Miryam until she was sixteen. I always had the feeling he didn’t look really hard. He was never really thrilled to teach a mortal teenage girl how to be a soldier. Damien found her and started training her to live in our shadow world by the time your brother come into the picture. I joined the family when she was sixteen - just before Mikey came into view. Lucky for your brother both he and my sister are beyond stubborn, which strange as this may sound helped him set himself up as her mentor. He could keep pushing her until she finally gave up and did things like he wanted them done.”

Lucifer played a few more chords, his thoughts moving to the case. “We probably should talk about this case before Detective Decker calls us for help. Do you think it’s the same situation as the one you closed in Europe? Another human trafficking group?”

“Crud, I hope not” Andre murmured. “Ending that one was painful. Only way we could close it all down was to have someone on the inside to initiate a take-down of the group. Problem was we couldn’t put anyone in as a buyer because the traffickers would have new buyers provide proof of their “desires” prior to being brought into the big event, that way they had something to use as blackmail against the buyer in case the police start sniffing around. We couldn’t have one of our investigators commit a crime just to get in with the traffickers so, our inside man…”

“Had to pose as a victim” Lucifer said solemnly, carefully closing the lid of the piano.

At Police Station 

Chloe frowned down at her desk, Lt. Monroe’s voice still ringing in her ears. “I’ve just received a phone call from a representative of Interpol asking that we allow Inspector Sealgair to assist with this investigation. Do you have a problem with it?” 

“Not at all” Chloe said, wondering why there was any concern with what she thought. 

“Good” Monroe looked across the desk grimly. “From what I’ve been told about this case you might find the added help to your benefit. Not that I have any doubts about your abilities, Detective, but considering the added complexities of this victim’s connection to a very influential family and a large European human trafficking ring…”

“I’m already talking to Inspector Sealgair about tracking the money trail. As soon as I have an update I’ll let you know.” Chloe had left the office and returned to her desk, aware of all the eyes watching her. There were still those in the precinct that blamed her for the outcome of the Palmetto case and were looking for reasons for her to fail. She was tired of the whole situation but there wasn’t much she could do. You couldn’t force people to be reasonable.

“Det. Decker?” a voice called across the bullpen. Chloe looked up as Miryam entered with her older companion at her side. Miryam looked like the quintessential wealthy business woman, dressed in an expensive suit worth more than Chloe’s entire wardrobe put together. Her dark hair was pulled back up in the chignon she had sported from the party, with silver pins holding it in place. The older man, Draco, was dressed in business suit with his long, grey hair held back by a silver cord. A silver earring was visible in one ear. He was carrying a brief case in one hand with the other hand on his employer’s lower back. To Chloe he looked like a dress-up version of the Spaniard from the movie “Highlander”. All he was missing was the sword. It was a good thing, she thought, that she wasn’t easily intimidated. 

“Inspector” Chloe acknowledged, motioning her guests to a seat. “Did you hear anything I can use to close my case?”

“Call me Miryam” the woman replied politely, taking a seat beside Chloe’s desk. “My contact Tristan was able to track where your victim’s money came from. It was no surprise that the trail led to a Swiss bank account in the name of Leblanc’s great-uncle who has been dead for nearly a decade. The money trail took numerous twists and turns but finally ended up in a local bank – owned by a Leblanc family friend – in an account under the name of Max White. Not terribly imaginative. He was also able to track down a purchase of property here in L.A. for that same account. That should probably be our first stop. ” Miryam stopped suddenly and looked around, her predator’s instinct warning her they were being watched. She had felt eyes on the Detective from the moment she and Draco had entered the precinct and the angry aura that emanated from some of the men milling about had put her on edge. Looking around, the Inspector caught one of the male detectives glaring in their direction. “What the bloody hell is his problem?” she asked, tapping one well-manicured nail on the desk.

“Who?” Chloe asked innocently, already knowing the answer to the question. Paolucci had been muttering since the murder had been assigned to her that she wasn’t qualified to work this high-profile a case, not after Palmetto. He was sitting at his desk, glaring daggers at her across the room with some of the other detectives gathered around him. She knew that Malcolm, who was still on medical leave, had just left which always left Paolucci itching to rattle her cage. Now, however, was not a good time for his juvenile actions. 

“That Neanderthal seated across the room” Miryam flicked a finger in the male detective’s direction. “If looks could kill, you would be six feet under.”

“It’s personal” Chloe replied tonelessly. “Some of my male co-workers have issues with me after a case I was on fell apart and one of their friends was injured.” She hoped that the other woman would let it drop but from the frown on both Miryam and Draco’s faces she feared that wasn’t going to happen.

Miryam raised one perfect brow in surprise. “I suppose they have never heard the saying that people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones?” 

Draco looked over at the gathered men, his expression mild. “Shall I speak to them, Milady?” His pupils turned to slits for a second then returned to normal before anyone but his employer.

Miryam smiled fondly. “No – I’ll deal with them if they get too annoying. It would not do to have homicide detectives turn up looking like charcoal briquettes.” She looked up at companion. “The files, please?”

Draco opened the case and handed out a set of file. “Tristan also sent a list of the other’s that survived the raid and were incarcerated with Leblanc in case we could link someone associated with them to this murder. I suspect, however, that will be of little value to you. The men on this list are either still in prison cells – or in their graves. I doubt any of them would have a way to reach across the ocean to kill Leblanc or the inclination to do so.”

Chloe felt coldness up her back. “In their graves?” she repeated, wondering if she really wanted to know what was behind that comment.

Miryam sighed. “Yes, the final raid went sideways. My brother and I had suspected that our prey were receiving access to information from someone on the take, someone who might even be on the task force. Their operation was always on the move, gathering new “merchandise” – runaways, students who were foolish in their interactions with strangers, even…children that were sold by their parents. Their M.O was to set up in a warehouse or abandoned building somewhere with little to no traffic around to bring attention to their actions. The traffickers had guards around the warehouse to keep their property from trying to escape. Buyers would come to them to collect their purchase after having sent payment by wire transfer. We had an undercover operative posing as one of the individuals they had kidnapped to sell to the highest bidder. Don’t ask how we managed that – it was not pleasant. But that night my worst fears came to fruition. Tristan realized that something was off about the actions of men we had suspected being part of the organization. People we had suspected of being their customers were disappearing from their homes or offices for no reason. It could only mean that the auction had been moved up. He collected our back-ups and the task force had to make a hard entry to rescue the captives. It didn’t go well – at least not for the traffickers. They suffered a numerous casualties. In fact, most of their guards and some of their lower level echelon went down before everything was wrapped up. It was a bloody mess.”

“How did you know where this warehouse was?” Chloe asked, her eyes riveted on the woman in front of her. There was something about the way Miryam told the story, blankness to her expression and coldness to her voice that unsettled Chloe. “Wait – were you the undercover?” she asked, her voice hushed.

“Yes” Miryam said, a little smile on her pretty face. “I was the only one who could go in. My brothers tracked me via … well, let’s just say they had a way to know where I was anywhere I went. When I was grabbed off the street with a young Romany girl I had befriended, they were able to follow my trail right back to the warehouse the traffickers had setup. But it was obvious when we were put in our cages, the final act was happening sooner than expected. There were people coming into the warehouse, well dressed men and women. They were treating the victims in the cages like they were sides of beef to be bought at auction. It left me and my brothers with no choice but to break the organizations back quickly. And so we did.” She shrugged, a very nonchalant motion. “If we had more time we might not have had as many casualties on the trafficker’s side – but then again…”

“Having a nice little chat with your friend, Decker?” Paolucci’s angry voice rang across the room. The rumpled detective strolled over to Decker’s desk, ignoring the angry look from his lieutent. “Little girl talk going to help you solve the case?”

Miryam turned and coldly looked the man up and down with disdain, taking note of his ill fitting suit, the rumpled hair and the generally unkempt air. She rose slowly, taking a tablet from Drago’s hand as she moved to look at the screen mounted on the wall in the center of the room. “We were just discussing the raid conducted on a human trafficking ring in Eastern Europe which might be related to Det. Decker’s case. I suggested she watch the security tapes of the final raid that closed the organization’s activities. Perhaps you would like to watch?” She examined the TV closely and smiled. “Hmmm…wifi enabled. All the better.” Miryam pulled up the file on the tablet and sent its contents to the screen in front of her. The file was silent but sound wasn’t really necessary. The images spoke for themselves. 

The file opened with a view of the open warehouse. Armed guards walked in and out of the frame, sometimes dragging struggling women from cage onto what looked like a stage surrounded by assorted men. Suddenly, a body flew into the frame from a dark corner and landed broken in the center of the room. Several of the guards, looking in the direction of that darkness suddenly collapsed, a dark cloud spraying from their chests and heads. A slender feminine figure in a short tunic and shorts strolled out of the darkness, holding what appeared to be a gun firing at the fleeing figures. A guard attempted to jump the figure from one side only to stagger back with what looked to be a large knife impaled in his gut. The smaller figure walked up to a long table and turned it over, scattering its contents. From out of no where another figure appeared to almost fly into the frame, tackling a fleeing man. A large dagger appeared and was plunged into the victim on the ground, pinning him to the ground. The two fighters walked up to one another and then turned to look up at the camera.

Chloe watched as Paolucci’s face drained. The fighters in the video were familiar, at least to her. It was Miryam and her brother Andre.


	10. Pt. 10 – a good hunt and bad memories

Pt. 10 – a good hunt

Draco watched the video with a paternal smile. Dragons were fiercely loyal creatures, devoted to those who were to loyal to them. Watching his lady as she dealt death to those who deserved it left him feeling pleased with his choice to serve her. It left a warm glow in his ancient heart to see such single minded desire for justice in one so young. He waved at the screen as the Miryam in video whirled and took a shot at someone in the darkness. “You missed” he chuckled, patting her paternally on the shoulder. 

“I never miss” she protested with a smile. The old dragon had been her man-at-arms and right hand since before she had achieved her immortality. He normally treated the girl with an almost fatherly air of pride, something she had become comfortable with over the years. “It’s not my fault Damien decided to drop that animal right before I did.” She watched as her dark-haired brother moved to tackle a figure trying to move past them and proceeded to snap the man’s neck with a quick jerk. “That move always annoys me. Death comes way too soon. That one guard I took out as I broke out of my cage took at least a few minutes to die.” She smiled wickedly at Paolucci, her eyes gleaming. “I broke his windpipe and he ended up drowning in his own blood. We really should have ended them all but of course the back-up team came in and it would have been just too much paper work to make explain it all away no matter how deserved their fate might have been.” She shrugged, closing out the file on her tablet. She looked at Paolucci and grinned thinly. “As for a little girl talk – I find that talking to anyone I’m working with makes for a much smoother investigation. I’ll make an exception in your case.” She brushed him aside as she walked back to Chloe’s desk, Draco following closely behind her.

Paolucci sputtered, his face white. “You crazy bitch!” 

Draco calmly turned on his heal, walked back to the male detective and grabbed him by the shirt, shoving him up against the wall, the detective’s feet kicking feebly inches from the ground. “Say that again, mate, and you and I will have issues. Now be a good lad and apologize to the lady for your language.” The old dragon smiled evilly, his teeth white and sharp, his eyes intense.

The other detectives rose from their desks, moving to help their friend, stopping at the sight of the Desert Eagle revolver in Miryam’s shoulder holster, a gun designed to put a major hole in anyone stupid enough to get in front of it. And from the video, most of the detectives had enough sense to realize that this woman had no problem dropping someone she viewed as a threat. “Stop right there!” Lt. Monroe’s voice rang out from the door of her office. “Everyone back to your assignments, NOW!” She walked out of the door to her office and looked up at Paolucci, who was starting to turn blue from the lack of oxygen due to Draco’s tight grip on his neck. “You need to let him go, right now!”

Miryam looked at the woman with interest. “No, he doesn’t. I will tell you this, though. If your man doesn’t start to act in a more professional manner I will contact the Chief of Police, the State’s Attorney General and any one else I need to and make sure they understand just how massively unhelpful your organization was. Trust me, lieutenant; I’ve destroyed people’s careers before. I won’t lose any sleep destroying his – or yours. So keep this troglodyte on a short leash and out of my sight while Detective Decker and I are working and we’ll all be very happy.” She turned and walked towards elevator, motioning Chloe to follow her. “Oh, and Draco? You can let him go now.”

Draco smiled and opened his hand, turning to walk away as Paolucci dropped in a heap. “Of course, my lady. As you wish.” He followed the two women onto the elevator and waved nonchalantly to the other detectives as the doors close. “Have a good day, gentlemen!” The doors closed as Miryam’s merry laughter rang out across the room.

At Lux

Lucifer and his opposite number talked, drank, then smoked and drank some more. After a while Andre wandered out to his car and produced his violin to mimic the tunes Lucifer started playing again, standing beside the piano as he played. The strings and piano blended into one sweet sound that rose to the heavens. Maze watched intently from the bar, keeping Gabriel’s foster son in her sights. He was an interesting creature, part darkness and part light with a touch of the dragon in his eyes. Something about him reminded the demon of Lucifer after he had removed himself from Hell, a wild creature set free. 

Andre joined Lucifer on the piano bench, laying his violin and bow on the top of the piano and tucking his feet under the bench to avoid kicking the scotch bottle. “Gabriel would have a cow if he knew I was hanging out with his fallen brother.” He nudged his double humorously. “He’s no fun – just like all your brothers.” 

Lucifer handed the young man his drink with a smile. “Probably. They are total wet blankets, especially Gabriel and Michael. No independent thought, just doing whatever Dad says to do.” He ran his fingers along the keyboard, playing random snatches of random songs with a fierceness that belayed his smiling countenance. 

Andre shrugged. “Wouldn’t know about Michael. He tended to ignore both Damien and I in favor of trying to keep an eagle eye on my little sister. That worked about as well as you might expect. It was always funny to me, how he would send her into fire fights without a thought but when she was off the clock he wanted to keep her close.” He raised his violin back to his shoulder and returned to mirroring the tunes Lucifer was playing. “He never figured out the tighter he tried to hold her the more she would run. That girl is a positive escape artist where it comes to your brother. Uriel use to bitch to Damien about how angry Michael would get when she would disappear on him.” Andre poured himself yet another drink and saluted his host. “Cheers.” The sound of “Fur Elise” sounded from the younger man’s pocket. Fishing out his cell phone he glanced at the screen and accepted the call, putting it on speaker. “Hey you, what’s up?”

Miryam’s voice sounded from the phone, street sounds forming the background. “Tristan was able to track down Leblanc’s new identity and a bank account set up for him. Seems there was also a piece of property – a house near the beach. I’m betting it will turn out to be our primary crime scene. Chloe and I are on our way there now. I’m sending the address to your phone. You and Lucifer need to meet us there.”

Lucifer’s face lit up. “And the day gets better and better. By all means my friend, let’s catch up with the ladies.”

In the Heavenly realm

Michael watched the mortal realm, his face calm but his eyes dark with rage, the rage that had been part of him since The Flood, since he tried to single-handedly destroy all of God’s failed experiment in mankind. He listened as Miryam recounted for Detective Decker the story of how she had closed down a human trafficking ring by going inside as a victim. The story sounded uncomfortably like one of her “out of the box” plans, situations he would never approve of but could never talk her out of. He closed his eyes, willing the anger away, rage not aimed just at the men she had faced, or the brothers who had indulged her insane plots but at himself for not being there to watch over her, to talk her off the ledge as she had done for him so many times before, to be her backup when talk had not worked. 

He had fallen to Earth and cut off his wings to protect mankind from his Father’s rage. Events overtook him after that which allowed him to understand his Father’s anger and disappointment against his ungrateful creations. He had experienced it in Vega when he had seen his own kind dissected by the very people he had sent them to for protection. He knew not all humans were like David Whele and Becca Thorne. But even in this reality there were those who were not worthy of such sacrifice, those who more resembled the denizens of Hell then mortal men. Creatures that used innocents to slack their carnal lusts. Men like those who his Miryam had faced alone, without her brothers beside her. “Little fool!” he muttered, clenching his fists, the tightness in his chest nearly suffocating him, the longing to shake some sense into her, to put his hands on her to stop her forward momentum into the storm, to hold her close inside the protection of his wings. “Why did you not call to me to be at your back? If you could not bear to see my face then why not call for Uriel or Rafael, whom you love as brothers? You are immortal again but not invincible.”

“She could have been badly injured but she was not” a voice whispered in his ear. He turned to look at Gabriel, whose dark eyes were shadowed with guilt from his actions in Paradise Falls and his actions in the Extermination War against mankind. “After all we had done to her, she would never have called to us – any of us. She chose to stand alone, without help from the Heavens. Can you blame her? ” He laid one large hand on his brother’s shoulder, trying to calm him. Gabriel still remembered his brother’s anger over Becca Thorne’s betrayal, her actions against the higher angels. He had allowed himself to be a captive in the city at the time in his effort to turn the “Chosen One” to his side. But his link to his brother had let him see and feel what Michael had experienced.

Flashback to Vega

The lab and adjoining surgical suite was cold and antiseptic white, filled with unmentionable devices and concoctions of a clinically paranoid human mind desperately searching for better, quicker, and more savage means of death and destruction. It was suitably devoid of anything remotely humanizing or ethical.

Michael and Alex Lannon observed Luis, one of the higher angels hiding in Vega who had chosen not to take sides in this Extermination War. Naked, uncovered to the elements and its tortures, trapped and restrained like the test subject he was.

The photos of what had been done to the others, the parts of their bodies that had been removed during autopsy, held a number of unspeakable horrors, but nothing compared to this. 

Michael dispassionately noted the brutality these so-called scientists had inflicted on this gentle creature while he still lived. Luis' wings were gone; amputated. There was so much blood, it was hard to tell exactly what they had cut away and what they had left. His chest cavity unfolded like an envelope at some point, and then sewn up like ragdoll's seams, heart quivering like a bird's... Seeing his friend's agony, he pulled one of his Empyrean blades. 

Luis saw this, recognized the intent, and for the first time, knew there was a light at the end of this long tunnel. "Please!" He begged, encouraging his General, his friend, his Prince. Michael stepped in closer, placing a comforting hand on the crown of Luis' head, intimately aware of the sweat and blood he felt there. 

Luis wept openly. Alex stared. Michael...shuddered behind the weight necessary for the downward plunge. The final squealing of angelic metal through angelic tissue and heart tearing apart the merciful resolve he'd long sheltered his own heart with. 

"I'm sorry, my friend." He whispered thickly, sliding his hand from the angel’s hair to cover Luis' closed eyes.

“You should be” an angry voice floated out of the shadows. Miryam appeared through an open door surrounded by wisps of fog. Michael reacted to the storm of her presence, flinching at the rage radiating from normally sparkling brown eyes. 

Alex reacted as well, with hostile surprise and a quickly closed distance on Michael. "Who are you?" He demanded. He glanced up at Michael, flinching at the red rage in his eyes, rage that was mirrored in the stranger in front of them.

She glared at both of them, choosing to ignore the younger man. Motioning to the still body on the table in front of them, she scowled at her former friend. “I have to keep track of multiple teams across multiple realities – something YOU taught me to do I might add – and you couldn’t even keep up with one helpless, lower angel, a friend, too, something you're seriously lacking?!"

The other participant in this ugliness, the perpetrator: Doctor Becca Thorn, kind council and protector of the poor. She cowered in the corner on her knees, already in a resemblance of begging for mercy; an increasingly rare commodity.

Miryam glared at her, "Of course, it would be the woman I found you with when your Father first sent me here. This is your weakness, isn't it - having carnal knowledge with some pretty little thing. She must have been great in bed for you not to see she was using you. I hope getting laid by her was worth the price!"

Miryam closed on Becca, sending the mortal into a hunched fetal ball. "And what kind of human are you?" She spat, fists clenching, hurting to use them. "Michael protected you! He abandoned Heaven for your kind! He even betrayed his Father's command, and lay with a mortal; made you his lover. Is this how you re-pay him?!"

"I trusted you!" Michael snarled in turn, bringing darting glistening eyes his way. His Empyrean short blade still clutched in hand. "I sent Luis to you for protection!"

Looking around, alighting on the nearest lab bench, he snatched the mangled piece of sword tip found there, cast red, the mark of the Power's class of Empyrean steel. 

It was a piece of Furiad's blade, removed from Michael's abdomen not long ago, after Gabriel's volatile Lieutenant thought it prudent to kill him in order to bring Alex, this reality's Chosen One for Salvation, to their side. Michael should have known then, when he'd awoken to the blade tip removed and disappeared...

Holding it out to Becca like a beleaguered offering, "Had you planned to use this to kill me? Is that why you kept it? The wing restraints you put on my brother, did you develop them for my wings to keep me still so you could destroy me?!" The blade tip flew to just above her head, embedding there in the wall. Becca chocked back a scream.

That wasn't enough for Michael. 

Mercy had been stripped and laid bare before Alex, his Chosen One, the boy he raised as much as Jeep Hanson had, become the man he'd die for.

More than Alex, it was Miryam’s scathing gaze that fueled him now, the look on the face of his beloved student / sister, who would now never be anything more, another wretched failure. The Flood, the True Sword of God, overtook him. Becca writhed and wiggled, feet dangling, as he wrapped his hand around her throat. 

"I had no choice!" She choked. Her small hand beat ineffectively against his. "I was trying ... to protect... the city!" Little lights began to appear behind her eyes as he slowly...efficiently... squeezed the life from her. "My feelings for you those were real. I swear it!"

“Protect your city? By destroying innocents!” The hue of an avenging angel shrouded him in such blackness that Alex Lannon finally snapped, forgetting the new found trust and emotion he'd discovered with his protector. Aghast, confused, and more than a little afraid of this enraged being that wasn't at all his Michael, he drew his weapon. "Michael! No! LET HER GO!"

Miryam quickly and suddenly disarmed him, using the surprise to get around any brute force tactics he could employ, snatching the gun from his hand. She ended their short scuffle with a rough shove of the younger man to put him out of her way. Alex skidded across the room, unharmed but pissed. The potency of Michael's rage kept him on his knees.

"Michael, put her down." Miryam's voice was cold, no sign of her former anger. "If you kill this useless bitch, you give David Whele, who's probably behind this abomination, the power he needs to destroy General Reisen, and everything you, he, and Vega has stood for! You can't let David Whele win! It's another test of your Father's. You and Gabe have already screwed up once, don't you fail this one!”

"She deserves to die." He replied coldly, ignoring all reason.

"Yes, she does. And she will, eventually, at the hands of the eight-balls, or your brother Gabriel, or even David Whele. It doesn't really matter, so long as it isn't you. Your brother has already escaped from Vega. Take your 'Chosen One' and get the hell out of town before your soldiers come and make this more complicated than it needs to be, before David Whele can claim victory, and most definitely before this bitch decides to disembowel the two of you like she did your friends.” 

Like a break wall against a tempestuous sea, Miryam's touch, cool fingers on hot skin as she reached out to put a hand over Michaels and gently pried his fingers from around Becca's throat, broke the dangerous spell of his past. The woman slid boneless from his grasp; eyes wide, heart pounding, mind reeling, legs and arms disjointedly working to scramble away.

Michael swayed under the release, now less the angry sea, and more the wave-tossed boat. Miryam patted his arm absently, turning to Alex, who rose with a panther's grace, gaze flinty and unsure. He petulantly retrieved his pistol, ramming it into his thigh holster with a pointed glare at Miryam, as she spoke, "I've taken care that whatever information they had on these obscene experiments stored in their computers. It will be gone before the sun rises." She smiled grimly. "Lucky thing I have a friend who specializes in computer viruses. Nothing they have found will remain in their systems. And as for the bodies, well, I'm still good with explosives. You have five minutes to get as far away from this facility as you can before it all goes bang."

"Michael, please! Becca sobbed, struggling to her feet, to reach for him. "I had no choice! Whele---! I- I swear, I never meant to hurt you.

Michael refused her; any fond memories of something he wanted to believe to be love, died with Luis. He turned to his former student, his face impassive. "Come, it is time for us to go."

"For you", she said, equally impassive, "Your Father has other plans for me. I am leaving this reality to you and your brother." She gathered her gauzy cloak around her, motioning to the open portal door behind her. Fog crept out over the threshold and the sound of wolves could be heard singing to the Moon, scent of pine and woodsmoke seeped; wherever this doorway led, it was a long way from Vega's reality. "This is my exit."

“I will find you when this over.” Michael said vowed quietly. 

"No, you won't." She countered forcefully. "You are not my teacher anymore. I have no need of your instruction or your company. Finish your foolish war with your brother if that is what entertains you but do not look to me when you both find yourselves lost and alone. I have enough to deal with. Stay in your realm and I'll stay in mine." 

She regarded Alex a final time; recognized what drew Michael to him, besides the obvious: Alex Lannon could never know this, but he was a little bit like Gabriel, and in that, a little bit of Michael too. Headstrong, petulant, willful, foolishly brave. He filled the void of her and Gabriel's presence beside him like a glove. 

However, Miryam refused to allow herself to fully recall the memories he represented: a strong stoic mentor and his charge...Especially those of how she once stood by Michael as Alex did now: proudly, loyally...affectionately. Time for that had come and gone...and so now was she.  
In the Heavenly realm

The betrayal from Becca Thorne had unleashed a fury in his brother. His student’s deliberate breaking their link had cut him deeply. Few things could call that rage and pain back up in the First Prince of Heaven but danger to his beloved Miryam. That would call up that anger as nothings else could. “She had her reasons.”

“If they had touched her, if they had defiled my angel…” Michael had muttered. He shook his head, trying to force the red rage back into its box. He had not allowed it to control him since the time of the Flood and it had taken both Gabriel and Uriel to beat sense back into him. Now would not be a good time to have that happen again.

“But they didn’t” Gabriel turned his brother to face him. “You taught her well.”

“We taught her well” Michael sighed. “You were always as much her mentor as I was. You taught her brother and he shared everything he learned with her.” His wings unfurled, stretching to full length to ease their tension. 

Gabriel looked back at the scene before waving it away. “My young one spends time with Lucifer. I fear his anger at the way we dealt with his sister will leave him vulnerable to our brother’s ploys. He will not speak with me but perhaps she will. I will journey to this realm in human form and try to make her hear my concerns.” 

Michael frowned. “Is that wise?”

“No” Gabriel admitted, ruefully. “But it is all I can do.”


	11. Pt. 11 – Welcome to my crime scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finding the crime scene.

Chloe watched out the window as Draco pulled into the gravel drive of an elegant beach home in Santa Barbara. Miryam had insisted that they use her car, saying it was easier to allow her man servant to drive while they discussed the case. What she hadn’t mentioned was that the old man was a maniac behind the wheel, taking corners almost on two wheels while ignoring the speed limit. The freeway had been a nightmare, something akin to being inside of a pinball game with the car as the ball. Draco had all but played tag with a couple of truckers, running around them when they didn’t move fast enough or drafting behind them when traffic became too dense. Chloe had spent most of the almost hour long drive clutching the suicide strap while trying not to slide off the seat. Miryam had not seemed to notice the insane things the old man made the car do, swaying gracefully with the auto’s every lurch and jump. “Are you sure he knows how to drive” she whispered, staring at the back of the man’s head. 

“Better than I do” Miryam replied, bracing her feet on the floorboards as he shot out of the freeway entrance and headed towards the gated community where the house was located. “I tend to be run people off the road and take speed limits as suggestions which is why my brothers refuse to let me have my own car.”

“This isn’t your car?” Chloe asked, surprised. The Bentley seemed more a part of Miryam’s character even though Draco had an old-fashioned elegance in his movements that didn’t seem to match his position. She could see either of them behind the wheel, driving through wine country with classical music flowing through the radio. Or at least that’s what she had thought until she got in the back seat. Now, thoughts of the demolition derby floated through her brain.

“No – it’s Draco’s. The old dragon loves toys of all kinds, cars, computers, and anything shiny will absolutely make his day.” She smiled fondly at her man servant, resisting the urge to pull on his long, grey ponytail. The old man had always been older uncle than servant, more physically and emotionally supportive than her previous mentor had been. It had been something Miryam had been grateful for, especially after the whole “Extermination War’ debacle. Cutting herself off from the angelic brothers had been painful, made more so by her two brother’s selfless offer to walk back from their relationships with the angels as well. The loss of Damien’s friendship with his mentor Uriel had been sad but it had been her brother Andre’s cutting his ties to Gabriel that had been heartbreaking. Despite his sarcasm when describing the Archangel, Miryam knew that the break was as painful for her twin as her break with Michael had been for her. Gabriel had been the only father her brother had ever known and despite their different temperaments she knew that the two had been utterly devoted to one another – until the events in the alternative reality of Paradise Falls and the Extermination War.

“You must pay well for him to be able to afford a Bentley” Chloe gasped as he did a quick run around a delivery van and roared through the community’s gates before they could be closed. 

Miryam smiled mysteriously, wondering what the woman would think if she knew that Draco had a pile of gold in his sanctuary higher than most of the houses they were passing, collected during years of acquisition when he was younger. The old dragon had also accumulated knowledge of magic that had allowed him to learn to create a “human shaped” veil to hide his true massive form – that of the great, golden fire breather. “We do okay. My brother is CEO of a major multinational so we can afford to be good to those who are good to us. Draco has been my man-at-arms since I was sixteen, when I was adopted into the Dragon family.”

“You’re adopted?” Chloe asked, staring at her curiously. Miryam and her brother had resembled each other so strongly it had never occurred to the detective that the duo was anything other than a blood relation. She had even briefly wondered if they were somehow related to Lucifer because of the resemblance between the two men.

“Yes, both Andre and I were adopted into Damien’s family. Damien is the oldest – blond, blue-eyed and built like the side of a barn. He’s around ten years older than I am. Andre is about five years older. The family describes us as twins because we’re so similar, both tall, dark coloring and slender build. We even think alike which is why people think we were born together.” She looked out the window somberly, wondering what her elder brother was doing, wondering if he would be as concerned about what was happening in this investigation as she was. Lucifer was showing signs of changing, something Metatron, the angel described as “the Voice of God” and who had become her drinking buddy of late, had told her she should be aware of in this reality. She wondered now if that had been the angel’s reason for telling her, if God had sent her into the fray again to make sure Lucifer was learning whatever lesson it was his Father wanted him to learn. Miryam sighed and shook her head, getting herself back into the game as they pulled up in front of the house Tristan’ had discovered.

“We’re here” Draco called back, pulling to a squealing stop in front of the house. “Looks like the local constabulary is here as well.” He exited the car and opened the door for the two women, falling into step behind Miryam as they approached the house.  
An older man approached them, his badge in his hand. “I’m Detective Mark Richards. Is one of you Detective Decker?” He looked past the two women, addressing himself to Draco who rolled his eyes in amusement. He was used to this – most old time police tended to look past his delicate looking lady not realizing she could put them in the ground as easily as he could.

“I’m Detective Decker” Chloe said, a tinge of annoyance in her voice. “This is Inspector Sealgair of Interpol and her associate, Mr. Draco. We have reason to believe this house might belong to the victim of a murder in L.A. It’s possible that this maybe the primary crime scene so if we can get into it…”

Detective Richards frowned, shifting his feet uncomfortably. “I was told that the family’s lawyers were on their way and would let us in.”

Miryam narrowed her eyes, looking from the man to the house. “Really? I find that very interesting indeed. Who did you say your superior was? I’d like to know if they understand that our victim was an escaped fugitive with charges in Europe ranging from Human Trafficking to Child Molestation. I’m sure they would want you to be helpful.”

Richards went beet red, stepping back from the angry woman. “I’m sorry. I have my orders to wait…”

“Those may be your orders, mate, but they don’t extend to us.” Draco moved to flank the startled man, as Miryam walked past him, pushing him aside as she walked. Chloe followed closely behind, wondering how far they would get before the local cop tried to stop them. 

Lucifer’s convertible picked that moment to slide into the driveway, throwing gravel into the air. Miryam glanced briefly at her brother as he climbed out of the car, evaluating whether he was too drunk to be of any use. He seemed sober enough but she’s seen him drink enough vodka to kill a horse and yet still be able to move through a complex kung-fu routine with grace and speed. Lucifer, she could tell, was his usual smiley self, looking like someone who had walked out of a men’s fashion magazine. “Can we be of service?” he called out, walking jauntily up to the group, his double right behind him.

Miryam looked from the Devil to the local detective and smiled evilly. “Yes, Lucifer, can you please explain to Det. Richards how much we need to get into that house before anything gets destroyed?”

Lucifer returned her smile, looking like a shark sizing up a seal. “So, Det. Richards, let’s talk? What do you really want from this situation? What is your deepest, darkest desire?” His dark eyes almost glowed as he stared at the now totally confused officer. 

“I…ugh…I… want to impress the family who asked for a favor.” He stuttered, wondering why he would admit that to a total stranger. 

“Because they can return the favor by helping you if you help them?” Andre snarled, moving to lean on Lucifer’s shoulder and stare unblinkingly at the detective. 

“If I were you, Det. Richards” Miryam murmured, “I’d find somewhere else to be right now. I’d hate to have to call your chief and explain your dereliction of duty to him. No matter how “influential’ this family might be… well, let’s just say I have associates who can make their influence, and you, disappear rather quickly.” She turned and started up the walk, Draco and Chloe following after her. 

Lucifer winked at the horrified officer. “I’d do as the lady says. She’s always as good as her word. And if she didn’t deal with you – I would. After all – this is a very, very bad man we’re investigating, someone who really needs punishing.” His eyes glowed red briefly, just long enough to send the man stumbling backwards towards his car. Then they returned to normal as he walked away, Andre ambling along behind him.

Draco reached the door first, gingerly testing the knob. “Maybe locked?”

“Maybe?” Chloe asked, suspiciously. 

“Door locks are tricky things” Andre commented, stepping up and running his hand over the lock. He stopped and lightly stroked the door panel for a moment then picked one spot to punch forcefully. He motioned for Draco to try again and the door opened easily, swinging backwards on silent hinges. “See what I mean? You just have to finesse them.”

Miryam sighed. “Okay Houdini, lead the way.” She grinned back at Chloe. “He’s rather the escape artist – never found a lock that he couldn’t pick. You should see him with handcuffs. He’s been banned from banks in four continents because he just can’t help trying to open their vaults.” Peering into the darkened house, she took a quick sniff. The air was musty, with a very coppery scent registering. “Hmmm, do you smell that?”

Andre took a deep breath and frowned. “Blood, lots of it. Somewhere – this way.” He slid past his sister and started into the house, disappearing into the darkness with the others following. He moved deliberately, sniffing the air like a blood hound before moving on from one room to the other, finally stopping in the great room at the back of the house. “Found it.”  
Chloe looked over his shoulder with a frown. The room was sparsely furnished but what little was there was overturned and strewn from corner to corner. An expensive oriental rug was crumpled in the center of the room. Blood was seeping through the rug onto the expensive wood floors below it with spray across the far wall. “Looks like we’ve found our prime crime scene.” Chloe commented, walking carefully around the edge of the room.

Miryam cocked her head, looking back the way they had come. She held a finger to her lips and pulled her gun from its holster, nodding back towards the front door. Andre glided silently into the shadows, pulling Lucifer along with him as Draco disappeared into a doorway on the other side of the room, with his line of sight fixed on Miryam. Chloe stopped beside the blood soaked wall, waiting. Two very well dressed men walked into room, stopping suddenly at the sight of Miryam’s huge gun and Chloe’s badge. “Well, now who would we happen to have here?” Miryam purred, a cold smile forming on her pretty face. “Hello, Valois. I didn’t expect to see you again, especially after Belgravia.” She lowered her weapon, tucking it back into its holster. 

One of the men blanched, backing up slightly. “Merde! Inspector Sealgair! What are you doing here?” He glanced longingly behind him, edging back towards the front door.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Last time I checked you were under investigation for witness tampering in Belgravia. I’m pretty sure you’re not licensed to practice law in the U.S. so you’re friend here” she waved her hand at the other man dismissively “must be the family’s legal council here.” 

The second man held a hand out “I’m Philip Mortensen. I’ve been hired by the Leblanc family to represent their interests. It’s an honor to meet you Inspector.”

Miryam looked down at the man’s hand, one eyebrow cocked. “I’m assuming the family doesn’t have an interest in keeping us from finding out who killed their heir apparent, do they?”

Mortensen dropped his hand awkwardly. “No, of course not. They would just like the Los Angeles police to know that they had no involvement in Maxim’s escape from Europe and that they are hoping to be of assistance in finding their son’s murderer.”

Miryam walked around the room, motioning her brother and servant to step out and be seen. “Funny, I heard that same load of crap when I arrested Max. And yet, here he is – or was.” 

Chloe tucked her badge back into her pocket. “If the family really has an interest in finding out who killed Mr. Leblanc, maybe they can start by telling us who here in California might want him dead.”

“Of course, his mother has had no contact with him since his release from custody” Mortensen began, keeping his eyes on Miryam.

“Release?” Miryam raised one fine eyebrow at his choice of words. “I think the term you were looking for was escaped. No one ordered his release.”

“That was not what the family was told” Mortensen protested. “We were told he had been released because of insufficient evidence which is why this house was purchased for him. It was decided by the family that it would be best for all concerned if he left Europe and tried to make a new life for himself in America.”

“I’m going to not touch that load of crap – there is enough blood on the floor as it is.” Miryam dismissed the two men with a wave of her hand. “Unless either you or your lackey Valois has something more interesting to say to me I suggest you crawl back into your holes and not come out until this case is closed.”

Andre grinned, looking back at Lucifer who had stayed somewhat in the shadows. “She really hates lawyers. Which funny since she is one – licensed to practice in D.C. of all places.”

Lucifer’s gleaming smile shone out of the shadowing corner, reminding Chloe of the Cheshire Cat. “I like lawyers. They are so easy to punish – so many sins to choose from.” He stepped out to stand beside his new friend. “Sure you don’t want me to ask a few questions, luv? I’m sure both of these gentlemen have a few desires they would like to tell me about.” 

“Please” Miryam replied, grinning at the Devil “I’ve just eaten. Not sure I could keep my food down hearing about what THEY desire.”

The objects of his interest looked at each other and this strange man in confusion and a little fear. Mortensen reached in his pocket and handed a card to Chloe. “Under the circumstances perhaps we should leave. If you need me, you can contact me at the number on that card.” He turned and shoved his companion towards the door. “I’m going to assume your department will make sure the house is secured after you’ve swept it for clues?”

Miryam grimaced, glad to get rid of their annoying presence. She started pacing off the crime scene, her eyes moving from broken furniture to bloody wall, looking for something… something she couldn’t quite put her finger on but that she was sure had to be there.

Chloe called for CSI to come and process the scene then walked the floor from the opposite end of the room. Her eyes darted around, cataloging where blood had been cast off during the attack. “Looks like there was a fight.”

“Not so much” Andre disagreed, squatting to look at the floor. “I’m thinking blitz attack. Leblanc wasn’t a big man. Wouldn’t take much to surprise him, knock him down and then go to town on him with a blade of some sort.” He looked up at Chloe with an enigmatic smile. “Not how I’d do it – too messy. But not everyone is as OCD as I am.”

Chloe fought down the urge to ask him how exactly he WOULD have killed someone. “So he gets blitzed, killed but then why not leave him here. Why move the body?”

“Someone wanted him to be found.”


	12. Pt. 12 – Evil raises its head again

The forensic teams arrived nearly twenty minutes later, spreading out to photograph the crime scene and collecting blood samples. Teams fanned out into the surrounding gardens, looking for any signs of someone coming or going from the house. A quick look in the garage showed that the victim’s rental car was still there and had probably not been used to move the body though technicians made plans to move the car back to the lab to be sure. Chloe and Miryam walked the scene, examining mail left on a desk, books still standing in the built-in shelves, and any other items that might give them an idea about who had been in the house or what had happened. Andre and Lucifer paired off to look around the other rooms in the house, starting with one of the two master bedrooms that happened to be on the first floor.

“Bland and boring” was Lucifer’s response in walking into the room. It was as sparsely decorated as the great room had been, with a cheap bed stand and chest of drawers made from particle board the only furniture in the room. The bed remained unmade, with simple cotton sheets and no blanket. There was no bedside table, no free-standing lamps, not even curtains on the windows, which were blocked only by plastic shades.

“Yeah, for someone from such a wealthy and supposedly cultured family the guy’s taste in accommodations is pretty pedestrian” Andre agreed, examining the cheap furniture with disdain. “Crud, I sleep in better and I live in a Taoist monastery.”

Lucifer shot him an amused look. “A monastery? Really? I wouldn’t think that was your style.” He used a pen he had lifted from the living room to flip over the clothing piled on the bed, making a face at the price tags still on the items. “Cheap clothes as well. How much money was put in that account?”

Andre shrugged. “Ask my sister. She’d know. As for the monastery – it’s a quiet place to retreat to. I, according to my family, have anger issues and occasionally need a place to hide out until the rage cools off. I kind of think it’s more of a place to park me until I calm down. No big thing – my girlfriend says a little quiet is good for me. Makes being with her all the more…explosive.” He grinned in amusement at the Devil. 

Lucifer returned the smile. “Bet your mentor wouldn’t like hearing about that” he commented, watching the other man out of the corner of his eye. He began to pull open a few random drawers, absently noticing they were all empty.

Andre’s smiled faded. “He usually didn’t. Something about my sleeping with a shape-shifter that really annoyed Gabriel. One of the few things we ever really got into a row about. Never was sure if he was worried about me or jealous of me. Anyway, it isn’t my problem anymore. ” He opened the closet and started half-heartedly searching through its contents. Suddenly, he stopped and backed up. “Lucifer, go back to the great room and get Detective Decker and my sister. Tell them to bring a forensic tech with them.”

Lucifer was instantly at the younger man’s back, looking over his new friend’s shoulder. His eyes widened, a red glow forming in their depths. “There are days I think I am still in Hell, or at least that some part of it has followed me up.” He turned and quickly moved to the door, calling out down the hall. “Detective? Miryam? Could you both join us in here please? And bring one of your CSI types with you. I think we have found something.”

Miryam was the first through the door, skidding to a stop beside her brother. “What…?” One look into the closet and she turned away, her fists clenched in rage. “A leopard doesn’t change its spots. And neither did Max.” She stepped aside as the forensic teams converged on the closet, pulling out what had stopped Andre in his tracks - the body of a very young boy. The body was wrapped in a sheet and covered in blood. The sheet was tied in place with belts, light cords and a number of other items. The only part of the body visible was the child’s head. The face was angelic, peaceful, making the boy look like he was merely asleep. He was a pretty child around twelve, blond and tanned, a typical California beach kid. Except, of course, for the blood splashed across his face. And the fact that he was dead.

Miryam tugged her brother back, out of the way of the forensic teams, pushing him gently in the general direction of Lucifer and Chloe. “Go outside, brother. Get some air. Come back when you can.” She looked over at the handsome club owner, a silent plea in her pretty, dark eyes.

Lucifer found himself stepping up to the younger man and tapping him on the arm. “I’m going outside for a minute and smoke. Come with me – you can walk me through how this whole CSI stuff works. And we can snag a bottle on the way out the door.”

Andre looked up into Lucifer’s eyes grimly, seeing the rage simmering in their depths., rage he was barely in control of himself. “Let’s start with you toning down the red eyes: he muttered. He looked over at his sister and nodded stiffly. “Come on bro, we’re dead weight in here anyway.” He stalked out followed by Lucifer, who had already fished his cigarettes out of his pocket. 

Chloe watched the two men walk away, her eyes hooded. “Thanks” she said, looking back at Miryam. “Lucifer can be difficult sometimes but especially…”

“I know” Miryam sighed, watching the techs work. “Normally when my brother gets that close to his anger I’d send him to talk to his foster father. Sadly, much as I hate the thought, that option is no longer possible.” She looked back at the bed, avoiding watching as the child’s body was laid out to be removed. The clothes on the bed caught her eyes. “This is wrong.”

“What’s wrong?” Chloe asked, glad to not watch as well. “The clothes?”

“Leblanc was a clothes horse. He wouldn’t be caught dead, you should excuse the phrase, in cheap clothing like this.” She picked up a shirt and looked at the tags still attached to it. “This was bought at some chain store, not the high end type that Leblanc normally shopped at. And the sizing is all wrong. It’s for someone much bigger than he was.”

“These aren’t” Chloe said, picking up another, much smaller shirt. “This is child size. Maybe it was bought for our second victim?” She motioned to one of the lab techs and motioned to the bed. “Bag and tag all of it. It can be sorted out in the lab.” She motioned for Miryam to follow her out of the room. “Let’s let them work.”

Miryam and Chloe walked out, taking a moment to check out the in-suite bathroom. The room was clean – almost too clean. There was nothing to show anyone had ever used the facilities, no razors, no soap or towels. Just a big, empty soaking tub in the center of the room, water still dripping slowly from its facet. “Any bets who used the tub?” Chloe murmured. 

“No bets” Miryam replied, shaking her head. “Nice tub wasted on a filthy piece of excrement that probably had uses for it other than a nice, relaxing soak.” She backed out as one of the forensic team moved to examine the room for clues. The two women walked back out to the main room, watching as the techs rolled up the rug to take it back to the lab. “Wait!” Miryam called out, moving quickly to the center of the room. She grabbed a pair of plastic gloves then reached down and picked up a small, metallic item. “Looks like a piece of a tie clip.”

Chloe looked at the item with a frown. “Tie clip or just a piece of a decorative pin? Bag it and we’ll see what the lab says.”

“This is getting more complicated by the second” Miryam sighed, handing the item to one of the techs. 

Chloe walked back to the entrance and tiredly looked at the stairwell. “Wonder what we’ll find upstairs?” she mused, staring up at the landing. 

“Might as well” Miryam replied. “Let’s get this over with.” She took the stairs two at a time, her face grim, with Chloe slowly following. 

Outside, Lucifer and Andre were leaning against a car and smoking, neither inclined to speak. Andre’s cigarillo dropped ashes on his jacket, burning a small hole in the leather. Lucifer reached out absently and brushed the ashes off before they could do more damage, causing the younger man to smile. “I go through jackets pretty quickly. My sister says I concentrate on one thing and everything else disappears. I like to think that’s just single minded concentration. She’s got other, less complementary terms for it.”

Lucifer chuckled, flicking his almost completely burned cigarette butt onto the driveway. “I imagine she does. She’s used any number of similar terms when talking to me. Did she ever tell you about that time in New Orleans when we were both chasing after an escaped soul? She was so angry with me for bringing that creature down before she had a chance at him.”

“Was that the case with the guy who drowned in the jambalaya pot?” Andre mused, tossing his cigarillo on the ground and stomping on it. “Or was that when all those souls escaped out your back door and you had to have another one of your “residents” go after them?”

“We don’t talk about that latter event” Lucifer growled, lighting up another cigarette. 

Andre laughed. “Whatever dude, it’s all cool.” He glanced back up at the house, his eyes going dark. “This case is getting complicated. Leblanc liked pretty little boys, he was abusive but we were never able to prove he had killed any of his victims. That kid is his type, but… I’m thinking the kid was collateral damage. Someone comes in, kills Leblanc and the kid sees it happen and has to be dealt with.” Andre watched as the techs moved out of the house with a frown. “Wait - where is Draco?” he asked suddenly, looking around suspiciously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small mention of other incarnations of Lucifer in other movies and tv. Anyone want to guess what they are?


	13. Pt. 13 – a meeting in the trees

Draco watched as his lady and Detective Decker disappeared down the hall, responding to her brother’s call. Normally he would have followed, staying as close as she would allow. But something had caught his eye in the tree line, something that didn’t belong, and something with a glow not from nature. He had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what that glow was from and the thought annoyed him. “Bloody hell” he groused, his voice deepening into a thick Scottish brogue, a remnant from centuries living in caves in the Highlands. “Why can’t those winged party boys take a hint?” He slipped out of the house and moved quickly towards the tree line, avoiding the forensic teams who were still roaming around the house. The coolness of the shadows reminded him of his lady’s sanctuary, a place of towering heights, wild vegetation and quiet shadowy groves where creatures from myth danced to the music of the night. He was already centuries old when his lady had started her reign and had been pleased to be selected to be her man (or dragon) at arms. Miryam, known by her Sidhe subjects as the Lady of the Moon, often sat on her throne in the grove, singing and dancing with her subjects as the stars shone in jewel-like splendor. Even the creatures who made up the Wild Hunt, hounds and hunters of different species, had loved that grove and loved the beautiful lady who often road at the head of the pack, urging them to “Hurry! Hurry!” as she rode down dark creatures who dared to enter her beautiful land. It had been pleasant even when the Archangels had visited to inform her of some mission she was needed on. The Messenger had been a quiet but pleasant presence when his child, her twin brother, had joined her in the groves. Both the angel and his young charge had enjoyed the music, enjoyed the stories and the dancing. Uriel, the Scholar, and his charge the Phoenix had often come to join the story telling, arguing good-naturedly about event and people that no one but the Archangels and their charges knew. Rafael, the Healer, had enjoyed wrestling with the shape shifters and others of that ilk who lived in the Lady's domain, though mostly he had spent his time talking (and drinking) with the elder dragon. Draco had enjoyed the joy in his lady’s eyes as her subjects shared their happiness. The Sword, however, was another story. He had always stood slightly apart from the others, watching what happened with hooded eyes, eyes that followed the Lady of the Moon as she danced. He never smiled, never seemed as pleased as his brother at the sight of the Twin Guardians and their fiery sibling playing music or telling tales with the other magical beings that lived in their midst. Draco had always wondered why he came if he was so uncomfortable around the children of magic. Or had it been the Lady he was uncomfortable with in these surroundings, unsettled by her unconventional yet joyful look at the world. The old dragon had long thought there had been something in the depths of those dark blue eyes, a glimmer of longing when the angel watched her, a spark of jealously especially when the young males of the Fae had presented themselves to the Sidhe’s beautiful ruler. Draco was not sure he would ever know, not now, not with all the angels but Metatron banned from all the realms held by the Guardians. 

The dragon walked for a while into the trees, scanning the path in front of him for signs of animal or human presence. The shadows deepened in one particular corner, a futile attempt to hide that immortal glow and the scent of the heavenly realm. “I see you, Archangel. These dragon’s eyes maybe old but they still see better than most. You can’t hide your glow from me.” Draco looked into the shadows, watching as the light coalesced into a figure – a tall, dark haired figure in armor and carrying a sword with a horn hanging from his belt. The creature’s massive black wings blocked out what little light was seeping through the trees. Gabriel, the Messenger, had arrived, his handsome face lined with worry, his dark eyes shadowed by sorrow.

“Peace, old dragon. I have no quarrel with you.” Gabriel stepped closer, his hands outstretched in submission. “I wish only to speak with your lady.” He glanced up at the house, searching for a familiar dark figure, the lithe form of his child. 

Draco sighed in frustration. He was old, not as old as this creature before him, but old enough to know what the angel wanted was not possible, at least not the way he was hoping. “I would think by now you and your kind would understand she has no use for any of you. Your brother’s indiscretions with mortal women have ravaged her heart to the point she does not sleep, she does not partake of the joys of the glade in her sanctuary. No songs, no stories – I had not seen her dance until she saw your elder brother at that charity event. But this is a pointless conversation. I do not think it is my lady you wish to speak to but your child who spends his days now with the Prince of Hell. You think to break him away from your brother by convincing his sister to hear your words.” Draco moved slightly and leaned against a tree, keeping the angel and the house both in view. He felt sorry for the creature. Having hatchlings of his own, some of which were forever in need of guidance, it was hard to not be able to reach out and touch his child, not be able to pull him back from a perceived precipice. But children became adults and adults had to deal with dangers without leaning on anyone but themselves. Andre was old enough to make his own choices, to choose how his life’s path would unravel. And for all the Prince of Hell’s reputation was formidable, Draco believed in this incarnation the Fallen was the least dangerous problem his lady and her sibling would face. “Leave the boy alone, Archangel. He is not a child in need of his father’s permissions or approval of his friends. If he chooses to spend time with the Lord of Hell, then so be it. They will both learn from the experience.”

“You do not know the depths of depravity my brother has sunk to since his fall. He will drag my child down with him to punish us for our part in his defeat.” Gabriel paced anxiously, clenching and unclenching his fists. His dark eyes were tortured, reviewing every move he had made since he had found the boy, abandoned at the steps of a temple in Singapore. The memory of looking into a basket to see a boy child, wrapped in swaddling cloths, the archangel’s name like a birthmark on the child’s neck. Those eyes, when the child had awakened, looking up with no fear at the creature standing above him. Gabriel had felt his heart swell; memories of another child lost long ago merging with waves of joy that seeing this new life examining him with curiosity and no fear. He could hear every conversation; remember every experience they had shared. Had he not warned the boy enough, not told him all the stories, made sure he understood how dangerous the darkness was? He had told the boy the story of Lucifer’s fall from Heaven, sitting in darkness of the boy’s simple chamber in the temple where he was being raised. The boy’s formidable temper had caused him to fall into the ways of a killer, caused him to briefly walk the path of darkness if only for a short time. Gabriel had been there to support him as he had found his way back to the light. After his remorse had inspired him to redeemed himself with his devotion to his new family (especially to his sister), Gabriel had believed that God had saved the boy for a reason, that he had done well enough as a mentor and parent that his Father would protect his boy. How was it possible that the Fallen had been able to simply walk up to his child and insert himself so easily, even to choosing to use a face so similar to his child’s that they could be twins.

“Andre is a smart lad” Draco dismissed the angel’s concerns with a snort. “I’d worry less about the young dragon and more about re-unifying of the Triad with the forces of Heaven. As it stands now, none of you – with the possible exception of Uriel, Rafael and a few stray young Seraphim - are on speaking terms with the Guardians. If they have need of the Heavenly forces to complete a mission, they will not have reason to reach out to you and their mission will fail. The Triad are immortal but without their link to their Heavenly Guides it is possible that immortality may not exist for much longer, it maybe that these three soldier’s may lose their lives in his service despite what they have been led to believe. At best, they can and will be injured, possibly seriously as there is no one left to remind them that immortal doesn’t mean invulnerable. Innocents may die, an event that will scar my Lords and Lady even more than whatever you and your brother have already done to them. Worry less about prying him loose from your elder brother and more about righting the wrong you and your kind have done my lady and by extension her siblings. Concern yourself more about making sure they stay strong and always ready to protect your Father’s creations and less with your own desires.” 

“How can we right this wrong if she will not speak to us?” Gabriel fumed, glaring at the elder dragon. “How can I say I’m sorry, tell that boy that he is my child and that I love him and want only to have that joy, that love back in my live? How can my brother say he is sorry, that he loves Miryam more than life, that he is hers from now until the end of time, if SHE WON’T TALK TO US?” He voice grew steadily louder, steadily more angry as he paced around the old man, his wings rippling in the tight spaces between the trees. 

Draco huffed in annoyance, noticing the angel had completely ignored his warning about their immortality. “That’s not my problem. My job is to look after my lady and if needed her siblings – not you. You’re immortal sons of the Father – think of something. For once, think out of the box; don’t fall back on the tried and true methods that have always worked for you before. But whatever you do – do it soon. Lucifer is slowly becoming one of the “family” and you, of all people, know how loyal my mistress is to those she loves.” Draco straightened and turned to return to the house, dismissing the Archangel’s presence as though he had never appeared. The angel would either figure out a way around his present dilemma or not. So long as it didn’t affect his lady it didn’t matter, not to the old dragon, the protector of the Lady of the Moon.

Gabriel watched the man walk back, seeing the outline of the great dragon under the veil he used to conceal himself. His arrogance had always annoyed the angel but he had to admit – the creature was right. Simply insisting that Miryam speak to him would only make things worse, anger both twins, and infuriate his son past the point of repair. Miryam was a more forgiving soul, if he could just talk to her, get her to hear him, to feel his pain at being separated from his child – and from her. He missed talking to the boy about anything and everything, sitting in Miryam’s grove in the cool of the night, listening to the Fae and other magical creatures created by his Father sing to their beautiful Lady and her well-loved brothers. Watching the twins tease and play and just shower everyone in range with love and joy. It hurt to be cut off from this – from the sense of family they created in their little realms, family he had become part of, family he missed more than he had ever thought possible. Gabriel had to find a way to insert himself into this investigation in human form, just as the old dragon had done. Then he could slowly work his way back into the girl’s good graces and possibly show his child that he had not been abandoned as he had been before the angel had found him. The boy had always been over-sensitive to abandonment and he was sure Lucifer was using that to insinuate himself into Andre’s life. If he could just talk to Miryam…The angel folded his wings against his back and melded into the darkness.

Outside by the car, Lucifer and Andre looked around and finally spotted Miryam’s servant walking slowly back from the tree line. The old man walked with his head down, frowning as he walked back to the house. “Wonder what he found?” Andre mused, looking back at the man beside him.

“Maybe he got hungry and went hunting for something. Dragon’s are carnivores after all; I can’t imagine serving a vegetarian is good for his health.” Lucifer watched the trees, seeing a remnant of a glow he recognized, a glow that disappeared almost as quickly as it appeared. “Hmmm… I wonder?” he thought, looking at his companion. He shook his head and filed the information away for later. 

Back at the house, Miryam and Chloe walked through the rooms on the second floor, quietly rummaging through anything they found. Only the Master bedroom was furnished, expensive antiques, with silk sheets on the bed and expensive electronics hanging from the walls. A big boy’s play room. “Now this is more like what I would have expected Leblanc to have.” Miryam poked at a game controller and stack of comics that were beside the bed with a frown. “Well, he obviously had the kid up here at some point. He never was much of a comic book fan.”

Chloe started opening drawers, pulling out a wallet. “Here are the I.D. and credit cards. Funny, wouldn’t he have had this with him if he was planning on attending that charity benefit?” She laid out the contents of the wallet, making note of the multiple credit cards, all in the name of Max White. Buried in the drawer was also an invitation to the benefit where he had been found – also in the name of White.

Miryam frowned, looking at the invitation. “Who would have sent his alias an invitation to such a high-end party? These sorts of things are planned weeks, sometimes months, in advance. Max was in jail a month ago. Someone knew he was going to be here, under this name, in time for this party.” She looked at the detective, one eyebrow raised. “Interesting anomaly.”

Chloe leaned out the bedroom door and motioned one of the crime techs to process the room. “We need to find out who planned the guest list and see why they sent Max White an invitation.” She bagged up the wallet and its contents and handed it to the tech, then motioned her new partner to follow her back down stairs. 

Downstairs, the women caught up with Draco, who was sitting on a bar stool in the great room. He watched their approach with a frown, his conversation with the angel still fresh in his mind. “Find anything interesting upstairs?” he rumbled, playing with his car keys. 

Miryam watched the old man fiddle nervously with the keys. In the short time that he had been separated from her something had disturbed him. She looked around the room, wondering where her brother and Lucifer had wandered off to. “Nothing we didn’t find the last time we looked into Max’s living quarters. Where are Andre and Lucifer?”

“Outside. Just follow the smoke clouds. It’s a good thing those two are immortal or they would be hacking up their lungs by now.” Draco’s voice dripped with disapproval.

“Says the man who smokes a pipe on a pretty regular basis” Miryam laughed, patting the old man on the shoulder. “Let’s collect them and be on our way. Our house is just a short drive from here, we can stop there, grab a bite to eat and re-group.” 

Draco surged up from his chair with a huff. “Well that settles it then. Best get you fed girl before you take a bite out one of us.” 

Miryam giggled. “Last time he and my brothers “forgot” to feed me, Draco made the mistake of getting too close and I took a bite out of his arm. So needless to say, he is VERY motivated to make sure I stay fed.” 

The sound of laughter followed them out to the car.


	14. Pt. 14 setting up

The convoy back to the family compound had been quiet, each group caught up in their own thoughts. Draco drove in silence, watching through the rear view mirror as the two women talked. He wondered, briefly, if he should mention to his lady seeing the archangel in the woods. She hated surprises, more so now than ever before, but he was loathed to get in the way of the angel’s attempt to reconcile with his child. The boy had loved his father and the feeling had been mutual. The angel had considered the dragon’s Lady as his little sister, allowing her liberties he would not any other not even his brothers. Draco had watched as she had teased and tormented the creature, dragging him into the circle to dance with her, twinning flowers in his wavy hair. He had watched Andre and his sister (with help from the Firebird’s mentor Uriel) tackle Gabriel, tickling his wings till he was laughing so hard he was crying. She showered him with the same unconditional love she gave to her brothers – love that the angel had returned whole heartedly. He could only imagine how broken the angel must feel now, bereft of both his child and his “little sister”. 

In Andre’s car, the Devil and his faux twin were also quiet, the sight of the child’s body putting a damper on any conversation they might have begun. And keeping up with Draco’s driving required concentration. “Does he actually know how to drive?” Lucifer inquired, sarcastically. 

 

“Sort of” Andre replied with a shrug. “He understands the principles but sometimes the finer points escape him. We’re better off behind him than in front of him. I’ve seen him run right up someone’s bumper when they didn’t move fast enough. This is actually not as bad as the time he was behind the wheel of an SUV and my sister threw a grenade into a taxi beside her because it was too close. Not that anyone noticed – she was in Kabul at the time.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes and hunkered down for the rest of the ride. 

At the Dragon corporation house, the two groups disembarked and started towards the house when the front door opened and a slender, auburn haired figure wearing torn jeans and a loose shirt hurtled towards them, tripping slightly over her own feet. “Lady Miryam!” called the teenage girl. “Your brother bid me come and keep your house for you.” She curtsied quickly to the dark haired woman, pushing her untidy hair behind her ears as she looking in askance at Andre and his duplicate.

Miryam sighed and looked towards Chloe and shrugged. “Fine, Lilly. You can start by laying down a light lunch for us. Draco, can you get Lilly acquainted with the house please?” She smiled weakly at the old man, who nodded his head curtly and led the girl away, one hand firmly clenched on her arm.

“Who was that?” Chloe asked, watching the duo re-enter the house in some confusion. “I don’t remember you having any servants here the last time.”

“I don’t have any – at least not here. Lilly is my older brother’s attempt at keeping tabs on me. Damien is something of a helicopter parent in sibling form. I swear the man has eyes on every family member who leaves the homestead. He knows Draco won’t tell him anything about what I’m doing so he’ll keep sending my maidservants one at a time until he finds one that will talk to him, starting with the most inexperienced – which would be Lilly. He thinks he can bully her into reporting back him. Draco will explain the facts of life to Lilly so that doesn’t happen.” Miryam shrugged. “At some point he’ll get bored and come see what we’re doing himself, God help us. Then things will get really interesting.” She strolled through door, Chloe trailing after her.

Lucifer laid a hand on Andre’s arm and nodded, motioning him to one side as the other two entered the house. “You know that girl is Lilim – like Maze.”

Andre shrugged. “I know. She’s relatively young for that line and had been feral for the longest time until Miryam and Damian found her. Those two took it upon themselves to tame the little beast and she’s been one of my sister’s maid servants ever since. The girl is totally devoted to my sister and totally terrified of my brother. She’s harmless unless she gets upset. Then the harpy comes out – literally.” He glanced up at the house with a frown. “I think this is a complication we really don’t need right now.”

Lucifer put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and pulled him towards the house. “We could always introduce her to Maze” he said, reaching for the door.

Andre shrugged free. “Oh Hell No! I’m not up to breaking up that cat fight. We have enough dead bodies to deal with. Miryam would be furious if Maze tried to undo all the work she and Damien have done to make this girl into a reasonably self-controlled being.” He trotted into the house, absently rubbing the tattoo on his neck. 

Lucifer noticed the move and glanced quickly around, wondering if his brother Gabriel was nearby again. That glow in the trees at the crime scene had seemed terribly familiar. “And that would be one more complication than I need” he thought, strolling nonchalantly through the door. 

Inside Lilly, with help from Draco, had started to lay out a cold lunch, mostly fruits, vegetables, breads and assorted spreads. Lucifer looked down his nose at the fare. “Let me guess – everyone is vegetarian?”

Draco harrumphed, examining the leafy offerings. “Not likely. I don’t eat anything green if I can help it.” He pulled out a tray of more substantial snacks and passed them to Lucifer. “Help yourself.”

Lucifer snagged a roast beef sandwich with a grin, dropping onto the long, leather sofa. “Much better.” Andre sank into the sofa beside him, a plate piled with assorted fruits in hand. Lucifer grinned and offered him something from the meat-lovers tray. “Pate?”

“Thanks – no. That stuff turns my stomach.” Andre wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I’ll stick with this.” He waved a pita pocket filled with marinated vegetables. “Unlike some, I have to work to keep my muscle tone in good shape.”

A phone rang from the desk. “Shall I get it?” Draco asked, grabbing another meat filled sandwich from the tray. 

Miryam waved him off, a tiny tea cake in one hand. “I’ve got it”. She grabbed the cell phone off the desk, putting it on conference. “Inspector Sealgair – can I help you?”

“Hey aunt Miry – it’s Tristan” a pleasantly masculine voice responded. “I have something for you.”

“Hey Tris - comment ça va? How’s it hanging dude?” Andre called out, piling a few more sandwiches on a plate. Lucifer grinned, one eyebrow raised.

“Hey, uncle Dre! Good to hear you.” Tristan’s voice sounded very pleased. “Listen, aunt Miry – something interesting has come up with the Leblanc family. Seems they aren’t letting the blood dry before they’ve declared a new heir apparent to the family fortune. Seems old man Thomas Leblanc – Max’s father – had a wife before Max’s mom. He had an adult son from a previous marriage named Peter. Max’s half-brother and his wife were killed shortly after the birth of their only son Beltran, who is now about ten years old. The boy has been in one boarding school after another, most of them in England. Now, the family is presenting the kid at various social events, with family representatives making it obvious that he’s going to inherit.” Tristan’s voice took on a gossipy tone. “Fun fact – Peter Leblanc and Max’s mother Jane Cramer – were both in the same college together. Rumor was that Peter and Jane were an item until he brought her to meet daddy dearest. Two weeks later she becomes his step-mother and he marries the daughter of an old family friend.”

“All very interesting but how is this relevant to our current situation?” Miryam asked, nibbling on a carrot stick.

“Check your email. I sent you a photo of the new heir and you’ll see why I thought you might be interested. Listen – I’ve got to dash. Dad’s picking me up to go hunting.” Another voice called out from the background. “Yeah, Dad, I’m coming. Want to say hello to your sister?”

“Tell that little bit she owes me big time for taking on that job in the O.Z. And tell her she needs to get her ass back home. I intend to hold court and come hell or high water her butt is going to be planted in that throne beside me if I have to nail her to it.” A rough voice replied, sounding very annoyed.

“Tell that firebird if he insists on holding court in the middle of my investigation he can hardly expect me to attend.” Miryam said, grabbing her laptop and dropping onto the sofa between Lucifer and Andre. “Go hunting with your father and stay out of contact – at least for a while. Things are getting complicated and I can’t keep track of everyone. See you later.” She flipped open her laptop and quickly located the file. She opened the first item, a photo of a young boy at what appeared to be a very proper British prep school. Miryam’s breath caught in her throat. The boy bore a striking resemblance to the body they had found in Leblanc’s home. 

Chloe looked aghast at the photo. “Does this mean what I think it means?”

Andre looked over his sister’s shoulder and shrugged. “Explains why they kept playing musical boarding schools with the kid. Kept moving him around so his uncle couldn’t get too close. Family had to know Max was a preferential offender – and that his preferences ran to boys who looked like his nephew. Twisted, very twisted.”

“But then why break him out of prison? Why not just let him rot there? Or better yet, why not arrange an accident while in Europe?” Miryam fretted, opening another file. 

“Maybe they were putting some mileage between themselves and the crime.” Andre suggested, rubbing his neck again. “Maybe they were hoping he’d just disappear into the ether and they wouldn’t have to deal with him again. Who knows what kind of weird motivation this group had? After all, look what type of twisted freak came out of this family group.”

“What’s wrong?” Miryam asked, her eyes focused on her brother’s neck.

“Nothing – my neck hurts. That’s all.” Andre groused, dropping his hand back on to his lap. He picked at his plate of food, suddenly not hungry.

“So…Tristan called you Aunt Miryam?” Chloe asked, looking at the laptop. The tension in the room had suddenly shifted though she had no idea why.

“Yeah – Tristan is my brother Damien’s foster son. My brother took him on to raise when Tristan's parents - who were cousins of Damien's - died. He works forensics for Interpol, mostly in intelligence gathering.” Miryam stared off into space, still trying to move the pieces of the puzzle together in her head.

“What did he mean he was going to hold court?”

Miryam shrugged. “My brother is not only CEO of a multinational corporation; he is the last in a very old line of a royal family of some now long forgotten eastern European country. There are those, mostly Romany blood, who still consider him a Prince so when he needs to get something settled in the old homestead he “holds court”. And we, Andre and I, are expected to play crown Prince and Princess to his King. It’s a huge bore but it makes his gypsy’s happy so we play the game.” She brushed off any further questions, opening another of the files her nephew had sent. 

Lucifer looked in amusement at Miryam and her brother. Her story was totally implausible but then explaining that their brother was King of a world of magic would have not been something that Chloe would have believed. “After all” he thought “how many times have I told her I was the Devil and she STILL doesn’t believe me.” He took another bite of his sandwich, enjoying himself immensely.

Outside Lt. Monroe’s office

Gabriel stood for moment, straightening his back as he prepared to enter Lt. Monroe’s office. Human form was hard to inhabit, especially as it meant hiding his wings, but it was necessary to insert himself into this case. Michael had not agreed with his strategy but his twin was not in the most rational of moods, his concern for his “lady” leaving him close to the edge, the Flood raging against Fate that took the girl he had come to love from him. Gabriel was torn between wanting to make up for the pain he had caused his brother and wanting to just rest from all the horror of the Extermination War but his fear for his son’s immortal soul had taken precedent. There were few ways for Gabriel to find out where this case was going other than to play at being mortal and become part of the investigation. He would then be able put an end to this obscenity that was this criminal case and also get close to his child.

“Mr. Angelous?” Lt. Monroe walked out of her office, a puzzled look on her face. She looked up at the tall, dark-haired man, noticing the well-muscled form in an expensive dark suit. His dark eyes swept over her impersonally, looking at her as though she were nothing more than a pawn on the board.

“Inspector Angelous” Gabriel corrected politely. “with Interpol. You received my message?”

“Yes but I was under the impression Inspector Sealgair was representing your organization?” She looked out into the bullpen, searching for Decker and her guest.

“The case has become much more complicated with the escape of Leblanc. My associates and I are concerned that some of the investigators who were most directly involved in the final assault on the warehouse might be in danger from members of the cartel who were not swept up in the final assault. I was tasked to come and see what has been done on this end so far and see if Inspector Sealgair is alright.” He looked around the precinct with a frown, seeing nothing in the room that made him feel uneasy for his “little sister”, nothing she couldn’t deal with. And yet, that unease was there, just under the surface, a tightness forming in his chest.

“Well, neither Inspector Sealgair nor Det. Decker appears to be here right now. I think they might still be at the original crime scene.” She looked around and waved to Det. Espinoza. “Detective, a moment please?”

“Yes Lieutenant?” Dan asked, walking up to the pair. He looked the stranger up and down, making note of his height, the breadth of his shoulders and the coldness of his dark eyes. 

“Inspector Angelous is here to work with Inspector Sealgair on the murder at the charity benefit” Lt. Monroe began, motioning towards her guest. “Have you heard from Det. Decker today?” 

Dan frowned. “No. I talked to one of the lab guys a few minutes ago. They are bringing in some stuff from the victim’s house – including the body of another victim. I expect Chloe will be back to look over the evidence any time.”

“Give her a call and see when she’s coming back” Lt. Monroe said, dismissing the two men with a wave and returning to her office.

Dan looked up at the much taller man with a frown. “If you’ll wait…”

Gabriel shook his head and started for the elevator. “Thank you but I will contact Inspector Sealgair myself.” He started towards the elevator reaching it as Malcolm exited it, the smell of hellfire preceding him. The Archangel stopped, his eyes going wide and dark as the man passed him, his hands clenching reflexively, unconsciously searching for his sword. He took a deep breath and stepped forward into the elevator, mentally calling for the angel he knew was present in this realm, the angel who was supposed to be trying to make Lucifer return to Hell, calling for Amenadiel.


	15. Pt. 15 – Talking about Gabriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point (and really probably much earlier) my beta reader EVRyderWriter is now my co-author. She's put as much heart and soul into this story as I have - and I wouldn't be able to do this without her.  
> 

Pt. 15 – Talking Gabriel

Amenadiel felt the summons before he heard it. A heat like wildfire running along the edge of consciousness. An Archangel was looking for him. But not just any archangel. The Messenger, a Prince of Heaven, was summoning him – and he wasn’t happy. Amenadiel was no fool…he’d heard the stories, the hushed whispering of his angelic brothers: Gabriel was no longer the Archangel Father created him to be. In the alternate reality of Vega and its world, Gabriel had been subjected to trials unenviable to even the Devil. The worst of which was forced absorption of Father’s most formidable weapon against man. Contained within one of the seven Amphorae the Almighty used against man when His Creations grew out of hand, was the Void—the nothingness Lucifer had banished in His Creation so that the universe could be created in God’s Light. In concentrated form, the madness it induced was all-consuming, and no mind, immortal or mortal, could comprehend the terror brought forth from it.

Gabriel had taken that Void into his Soul, and survived. Amenadiel could only imagine that their Father, having seen his Heart go above and beyond the duty requested, saved him from certain corruption and death. How the mighty Fall…

Even with the divine intervention, Gabriel’s psyche was permanently cracked. Within him, the Light and the Dark were held in extremely fragile symbiosis. Only Gabriel’s Will and his power as Archangel held them in balance. One disastrous push in the wrong direction would rip the crack wide open…and literally only God knew what would happen next.

Something had occurred in that reality that had divided the Archangels and their Seraphim guards from the members of the Triad, the immortal Guardians created by the Father to stand between mankind and the scions of Heaven or the creatures of Hell. Whatever had happened had been bloody, painful, heartbreaking. The brothers were still grieving the break between themselves and the Guardians they had been tasked to train, beings they had adopted almost as family. And Amenadiel knew that at least one of those Guardians was here, in contact with Lucifer.

 “My Prince” he murmured, bowing his head as he materialized before Gabriel, the Second Prince of Heaven, standing in small, dark room he did not recognize. The room was empty of furniture; the only light a flickering bulb hanging precariously from the ceiling, casting odd shadows along the walls. The Archangel had assumed mortal form, a lean, dark figure dressed in leather jacket and jeans with deep set eyes - eyes that were blazing with fury. One of his short Empyrean steel swords was in his hand, its edge gleaming. He struck an easy pose against the wall, passing the blade from hand to hand, an almost manic smile on his angular face. Amenadiel swallowed nervously. He had heard from other Powers that both brothers had returned from their assignment more volatile and edgy than any had seen them since the First War on Heaven. He wondered just how much control this Archangel had recovered after his return to his Father’s grace.

“Hello, brother.” Gabriel drawled, looking the other angel up and down as though examining a new and unique bug. “So kind of you to spare me a moment of your time. I know how busy you are, what with guarding the borders of Hell and trying to get its former Master to return to where he belongs. Not doing so well in that regard are you?” He pushed away from the wall and started to circle the already nervous Power, Gabriel’s true form just flickering under the façade of the human figure he wore.

“He refuses to see reason.” Amenadiel protested, turning with his interrogator, keeping the other angel in sight at all times. This conversation was not going well. The Archangel was…off. Dangerous, as though he saw his the lower angel as an adversary and not a brother. “He sees this all as a game.”

“A game he seeks to bring my son into.” Gabriel snarled, his human form changing as his massive wingspan exploded into view, reaching out to drive the other angel down to his knees. “A game he will use to destroy my child and laugh as he does.” He smiled grimly, noticing his younger brother’s nervousness. “What interests me, however is what game YOU are playing, brother? Could it have something to do with a certain dammed soul that somehow has escaped your notice and returned to the world of the living? Or are you going to lie to me and say you hadn’t notice one lone soul running past you to escape its fate?”

“I…”Amenadiel stuttered, trying to find a way to explain himself without lying to the already angry creature. “I thought…”

“You are not supposed to think” Gabriel pinned the angel against the wall. “You are supposed to do your duty and not question our Father’s will. You job was to keep the gates closed until such time as Lucifer would return to his throne. Your JOB…” the Archangel’s voice rose, his tone roaring with the sound of their Father’s disapproval. “was to remind our brother that he had a responsibility to remain on his throne where he belonged. It was NOT…”here Gabriel stopped, his blade suddenly at Amenadiel’s throat “to take direct action against the Prince of Hell.” Gabriel smiled his feral smile and ran the tip of his blade along the angel’s neck. “Now, what are we going to do about all of this, hmmm? What are we going to do?”

Somewhere in Heaven – the angels wept. Somewhere in Hell – the Fallen laughed. And in a dark room in the Mortal realm, and angel screamed.

_**At the House of the Dragon** _

Miryam grabbed another small sandwich and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly. Lunch had fended off the headache that had started to form behind her eyes, a pain brought on as much from stress as from hunger. “Your coroner should have started the autopsy on the second victim by now. We should get back on the road back to the precinct.”

Andre stretched languidly. “Need me for anything? Attending an autopsy doesn’t sound like my idea of a good time.” He nibbled on a small seed cake, enjoying the taste of wild honey and cream.

“Same here.” Lucifer piped up, snatching up a scone and licking the clotted cream. “I do have a club to run Detective, something Maze reminds me of on a regularly boring basis so unless you have something more interesting for us…”

Miryam grimaced. “Why don’t you both go back to Lux and we’ll call you if you’re needed? We can catch up with you after we’ve gone over whatever the forensics teams have finished with.” She grinned mischievously at Lucifer. “Get my brother to sing for you. He’s pretty good.”

Andre made a face at his sister. “Only when I’m in the mood to sing. Which is usually only when I’m in the shower.”

Miryam laughed. “Then you spend a LOT of time in the shower because I constantly hear that voice floating over my garden walls. The Fae are beginning to think you have become a court performer instead of a prince. Come on sweetie - I’m betting Lucifer’s clientele would adore you.”

“I think the voice might not be the only thing they’ll love – after all, come on! The bloke looks just like me.” Lucifer grinned, ignoring the groan from his friend. “Come along kid, the Britannys will be absolutely over the moon to have two of us to play with.” The two men’s laughter followed them out of the house.

Miryam’s smile faded as soon as her brother was out of the room. “Well at least one of us is having a good time.” she muttered, picking up her tablet and reviewing the documents from the original assault. The sight of that child’s body had brought back ugly memories of her original case, memories of the high pitched screams of the abused, tortured; the smells of human sweat, urine, and blood, laced the terror. She could still feel her rage simmering under the surface of her controlled facade, even after months of down time.

Chloe walked to the desk, picking up an album lying on the top of the pile as she did. “What’s this?” she asked, flipping it open. “Doesn’t look like crime scene photos.”

Miryam looked quizzically at the book in the detectives hands, then smiled. “Oh that! Draco must have dropped that on the pile on his way back to the kitchen. It’s not part of the case files. Actually, it’s a family photo album my brothers put together for me to remind me there are reasons I should come home every now and again. Go ahead; flip through it if you like. There should be some good shots of Andre and me in there with our brother Damien.”

Chloe opened the book and started leafing through it. She grinned at a photo of Andre and his sister, taken in a garden setting. Miryam was draped over her brother’s back, her arms wrapped around his neck. Both were smiling happily for the camera. The next photo was of the twins with a tall, blonde, rugged looking man, standing in a barn with horses visible behind them. Andre had that Luciferish grin on his face, with his fingers forming horns behind the other man’s head. “Who is this?” she asked, turning the book towards Miryam.

Miryan took a quick look and smiled fondly. “That’s our older brother Damien. He has horses, Destriers mostly, and any chance he gets he likes to photograph them. Destriers are big horses that were once used to carry knights and their heavy armor into battle. My brother is a big man so he’s more comfortable with a large horse rather than the speedy little Arabians Andre likes. There are probably more photos of Damien with his horses in there.”

Chloe flipped through a few more pages and stopped. “Who’s this?” she asked, pointing to another shot of Andre with a tall, dark haired, intense looking man. Andre’s arm was wrapped around the man’s neck playfully, a big, goofy grin on his face. The man was also smiling, looking sideways at the young man beside him.

Miryam’s smile faded again. “That’s Andre’s foster father Gabriel. Remember I told you I was adopted? So was Andre. I was brought into Damien’s family when I was seven but Andre didn’t become part of us until he was twenty-four, when he was assigned to work with me on a case. Until then Gabriel was Andre’s only family. He raised my brother from the time he was an infant to the day he became one of us.” She reached out and took the book back from Chloe. “You know, it’s a funny thing. Many fathers and sons have times in their lives when things get tense, when they start to butt heads and boys start pushing back at the male authority figures in their lives. Not Andre and Gabriel. They adored one another through the teenage years, through the bad times in black ops and wars. Gabriel was my brother’s rock, the center of his life. Andre was Gabriel’s son, his child, and no one believed that anything could separate them. But they were wrong.” She tossed the photo album at the sofa with a sigh. “It’s a long and painful story and not one I’m in the mood to tell today. Listen, let’s get Draco and head out to the morgue.”

Chloe watched the other woman shut down like a light switch and sighed, steeling herself for the drive. “Okay. Traffic should have quieted down enough we won’t be turned into a road pizza. Hopefully.” She knew she didn’t sound hopeful at all.

_**Interlude in Lux** _

_'And in the naked light I saw_  
_Ten thousand people, maybe more_  
_People talking without speaking_  
_People hearing without listening_  
_People writing songs that voices never share_  
_And no one dared_  
_Disturb the sound of silence'_

Chloe and Miryam had just arrived, having spent hours in the precinct sifting through reports from the Coroner and from the CSI’s. Finally, Miryam had suggested that they call it a night and go talk to “the boys” as she called Lucifer and Andre. Draco had offered to drop them at the club, begging off from coming in as the crowd of people wore on his nerves. He had insisted that his lady make sure her phone was charged and promised to come back for her in an hour. Once the two women were insice the sound of singing rolled over them, peaking Chloe’s interest. Lucifer often performed in his club but this voice, though similar, didn’t belong to the club owner. The two women stopped dead as they entered Lux, hearing the soulful voice soaring over what sounded like a full orchestra, singing the Simon and Garfunkel song “Sound of Silence.” Standing at the entrance they could just make out that the figure standing in the center of the club was Andre, Miryam’s twin brother, dressed like Lucifer in a black suit and bare feet. He was singing into a microphone with what looked like a full sound system behind him with his long, black hair loose, hanging like a frame around the angular planes of his face. The resemblance to the club owner was even more obvious then usual. Music playing behind him sounded like a full orchestra, not a recorded session piped through the club’s audio system. Every head was turned towards the singer, with the usually blasé clubbers standing in absolute stillness as his song soared to the ceiling and the heavens beyond. His voice was deep, throaty and raw, hitting something deep inside the audience. More Joe Cocker than Art Garfunkel but there was a roughness to the voice that just seemed to fit with the song. Andre’s head was thrown back, arms extended with his eyes closed as the music poured from him.

“Wow” Chloe breathed, looking back at her companion. “You said he was good. That’s … impressive.”

Miryam smiled sadly. “Yes – he has a beautiful voice. He and his foster father use to sing to me all the time, sometimes folk songs, sometimes something very classic. Sometimes they would just make something up on the fly, riffing off of each other as Andre played his guitar. But that was before…” she looked away with a frown, feeling eyes watching the scene before her. “Never mind. It’s not important. Let’s find Lucifer.” She nudged her companion towards the bar, her eyes scanning the club.

 _"Fools" said I_  
_"You do not know, silence like a cancer grows_  
_Hear my words that I might teach you_  
_Take my arms that I might reach you"_  
_But my words like silent raindrops fell_  
_And echoed_  
_In the wells of silence_

  
Chloe looked for the club’s owner, catching sight first of Maze standing behind the bar with a strange, almost longing, look on her face. And there, seated at the bar in front of Maze, was Lucifer, his usual smarmy smile gone, his attention entirely on his doppelganger out on stage. His face was unemotional but even from where she stood, Chloe could see something different in his eyes – a pain she hadn’t ever seen in him since she had first seen the scars on his back. She and Miryam moved a few mesmerized bar patrons aside and sat beside him. “Lucifer?” Chloe asked, putting her hand on his arm.

He looked at her blankly, not even seeing her companion’s understanding expression. “Do you hear him? That voice – I haven’t heard anything like it since…” he took a deep breath, shaking his head to free himself from the spell Andre’s voice had cast. “It sounds like an echo of my brother’s voices when we sang for our father.” Lucifer’s voice sounded sad, as though that memory was almost too painful to think about.

Andre stopped singing at that moment and the club’s patrons exploded in applause and conversation, as though the song’s end had released them from its spell. He bowed somberly and joined Lucifer at the bar, motioning Maze to slide a drink to him. The singer wrapped his arms around his sister, almost lifting her off her feet in a loving embrace. “How was that?” he asked, his voice still a low bass vibrating with the effort of his performance. He flashed a contented look at Lucifer, taking a quick swig.

“It was… good” Lucifer said softly. He clinked glasses with the young man in front of him, his eyes now hooded. “Very good. Your mentor would be proud.”

Andre’s pleased look disappeared. “I doubt it. Right now I think the sound of my voice wouldn’t please him at all.”

“I think it would” Miryam murmured sadly. “He taught you to sing, remember?”

Andre took another drink, sliding the glass back at Maze for another shot. “I’d rather not talk about that.”

Miryam sighed. “No, of course you don’t. Neither you nor Damien ever wants to talk about it. Hell, it maybe the only lesson you two ever really took to heart from our mentors. They don’t ever want to talk about anything either.” She waved off the glass Maze offered her and retreated a step, her arms crossed across her chest. “I swear sometimes I think all you guys have selective hearing. I never asked either of you to do what you did, never asked you to take out my bad humor on your father or Damien’s friend. The conflict was between me and my mentor.Gabby never meant to hurt me…”

“I really wish you wouldn’t call him that” Andre growled, his emotions raw. “It makes him sound so …cuddly. Trust me – my father was anything but cuddly.”

“Really? Could have fooled me” Miryam shot back, an angry tone to her voice. “He never laid a hand on you unless it was to pat your back or sooth you. Whenever he was in my home you two were attached at the hip. He loved you and you adored him. And now, because of me…”

Chloe wasn’t sure why the twins were suddenly picking at each other, trying to push each other away for no reason. “Hey!” she said, trying to slip between them.

“Leave them alone, Detective” Lucifer said softly. “They need to do this.” He took a quick drink from his glass, a somber look on his face. “Siblings quarrel – it’s just the way of it.”

“We’re right back to where we were months ago, trying to track down human vermin preying on their own and no one to turn to for comfort or advice. And it’s all because of me, because I couldn’t keep it together enough to keep my head in the game and my heart out of the way.” She slapped the bar angrily, talking more to herself then her twin. “I’m so bloody TIRED of it all. What do I have to do to make this schism between our family go away?” Miryam whispered, her face flushed. “This break is all my fault…”

“Don’t!” Andre shouted, tossing his glass aside, shattering it against the wall and sending patrons running. “This was their fault – my father and his twin. They are the ones who broke faith with us; they are the ones who abandoned us, who betrayed us. It’s them!!!”

“No!” Miryam shouted, equally angrily. “This was on me – even Damien knows that and you know he blames me for nothing if he can help it.” She pushed away from her twin and started for the door. “I need some air. Chloe, would you please fill these two in on what your CSI’s found at the crime scene. I’ll be right back.” She stalked out, shoving several drunken party goers out of her way as she did.

Andre spread his hands over the bar and leaned forward, stretching his muscles wearily as he tried to reign in his temper. “Damm that girl. She blames herself for everything. Probably blames herself for the death of the dinosaurs.” He blindly reached out and Maze slid a new glass under his hand, filled with Scotch. “Thanks Maze” he muttered, tossing the drink back quickly. “So, Detective, what do you have for us?”

Outside, Miryam slid into the nearby alley, her hands jammed into her jacket pockets, tears running down her cheeks. Quarreling with her brother always left her feeling sick to her stomach, her emotions overwhelming her. Much like she felt when she argued with Michael – except her brothers at least were usually remorseful after the fact, a feeling her mentor had never seemed to achieve.

“He actually was sorry, most times.” a voice echoed from the end of the alley. Gabriel appeared, still wearing his human form. He moved slowly towards the young woman, his arms crossed across his chest. “He hated quarreling with you – especially when you were right and he was wrong.” He smiled slightly at his little joke.

“What are you doing here, Gabe?” she asked, un-amused.

Gabriel sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought. Her emotional walls were high, raw and too close to the surface. Too much like her mentor, too much like Michael. “I just wanted to talk to you. Andre won’t speak to me, not after the quarrel we had over the Extermination War. I thought, maybe, you would at least not send me away?”

Miryam sighed, walking up and putting her hands on the front of his jacket. “Did you hear our boy sing? He sounds amazing, just like when we were sitting around the fire in my keep. Remember?” 

“I remember” Gabriel whispered, putting his hands over hers. “Miry, I’m so sorry about all of this. I never meant for the war to go as long as it did. I never meant to just leave, to push you both out.” He gently kissed her hand, pressing it to his chest. “I know this may be impossible, but I want my family back.What do I say to make that all happen, Miry? What can I do to make this all right again?”

Miryam shook her head, her fingers entwined with his. “I’m beginning to think only your Father knows the answer to that. I don’t want to talk about the war. I don’t want to think about the war or this case or anything. I just want…” she sighed. “I don’t know what I want. I’m just so tired of all of this, tired of the anger, tired of the pain, just so tired.” She leaned her forehead onto his chest and felt his hand gently caress her hair. “I’m so sorry Gabby. This nonsense is all my fault. I let Vega get too personal.”

“No it’s not.” Gabriel protested harshly, putting his hand under her chin to force her to look up at him. “None of this is your fault, it never was.”

“If I had, for once, done what I was told, had not followed Michael to Paradise Falls…if I had just trusted him to do what he promised and waited for him to come back from your Father’s assignment maybe…” She sighed.

“Nothing would have been different.” Gabriel insisted. “I should have stopped as soon as I knew I’d hurt you, should have retreated to my Father’s throne to beg his forgiveness for hurting his child.” He pulled free from her and started pacing. “My brother was a fool. He should have spoken his heart long before he went to Paradise Falls, should have kept himself clean from carnal lusts while he was away from you. He and I – we are to blame for all this heartache.” 

Miryam threw her arms around the agitated angel’s neck, anchoring him. “Enough. No more.” She felt his arms and then wings wrap around her, his face press against her hair, his shoulders heaving as he sent thanks to his Father for at least this little joy returning to him. The coursing strength of Archangel in her arms sent of shiver of resolve down her spine, as if somehow having Gabriel back with her set a score right when it had been zero in her favor. She wouldn't let go now for any price, not even Michael.

Now, if only his boy could forgive him as well. If he only could make the boy forget that last angry conversation, that last ugly confrontation…


	16. Pt. 16 – conversation with Gabriel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "David" referenced here and in chapters to come is from Season 2, episode 7 of Dominion entitled "Lay Thee Before Kings". It's heatbreaking - and explains Gabriel's need to protect THIS son as he couldn't before.

Pt. 16 – conversation with Gabriel

It played out over and over in his head: that last damnable conversation. It should never have occurred; what was said could never be unspoken, and that, more than anything, Gabriel regretted with every fiber of his being. The beginning of the end of the single relationship he cherished above all others…in all he did, had done, and would do, its repercussions follow…

In the time of the Vega Extermination Wars – in a temple in Shangri La

Steam rose from dampened hair in the cool atmosphere of the monastery courtyard, like a lazy curl of smoke from a Dragon’s nostril. The day was whisper soft, a faint breeze rustling the trees and foliage. The occupied stone tile pad dead center a stark manmade aside to the greenery.

Perspiring had passed drenching an hour ago. Andre plucked at his shirt front to unglue the fabric from his flesh, and wiped his upper lip on the collar seams. Droplets still rained from his hair line, the tips of his eye lashes, his nose, and if he hadn’t tied his long locks and beard in thick braids, from those ends as well. His feet squelched uncomfortably inside socks and sneakers while the tender skin on the inside pocket of his knees tickled from their moistness. His palms slicked shiny and wet, callouses sloughing off and rubbed raw.

He was continuously blinded by the salty moisture in his eyes, constantly twitching his nose to stop from sneezing over the tantalizing line of itch a trailing drop left behind.

The bad news was he was still surrounded.

The good news was he was still surrounded…and holding his own. No prisoners.

Both wrists cracked and popped as he moulineted his dual Empyrean steel blades cross body like two manually operated plane propellers. They were elegant weapons: two feet long, handcrafted in the Power’s forges, with kris blade designs and artful hilts.

Kris blades were famous throughout the realms for their distinctively wavy appearance. As a weapon and a spiritual object, as Andre saw his, krises were also known to have a presence, or an essence, beholden to its owner. For him, and for other cultures who had been gifted the design by divine intervention long ago, the always- odd number of waves in the blade signified the type of essence. Andre’s was his Dragon, and as such, the three waves in each his blades signified the dragon curled in motion—always moving, never ending. His ouroboros.

The parmor, or design etchings in the blade, detailed such exquisitely. His hilts were the only clue these blades were of angelic origin: fully extended angel wings, providing a study cross guard to protect his hands, were cast in silver mixed with Empyrean steel for durability.

He’d learned all that he knew about swordplay with these two blades. They were extensions of him: deadly…precise.  
Andre was a man of war happy at peace. If he could have no peace, he would have war. Since war was not only out of the question but the root of his present personal malaise, assuring he was certainly not at peace, terrorizing several of his Seraphim tutors was the next best thing.

The aggressive moulineting only put the angels on guard, momentarily delaying their next attack. Seven against one. Andre grinned. Still liked those odds.

He advanced, feet forming a right angle and an L-shape under him. Dominant side facing out, meeting the encirclement head on, when the foremost Seraphim, dressed in light field armor, broke line to meet him. He’d already ‘dispatched’, that is, removed sin real injury, five of them. A true test of will and endurance. He tucked the angles of his body open to attack as best as he could to minimize target area. The lead hand’s blade rose, striking a firm point in line on the angel’s throat. The back hand blade came across to cover belly, while poising itself to act like a scorpion’s stinger.

The Seraphim soldiers carried longer, leaner blades. Their smooth curves were reminiscent of a saber or a scimitar, while the thin blade-style almost that of the oriental katana. The overall design was flowing and sleek, a marked difference to the choppy bloodletting Andre’s blades naturally rendered. Crafted in doubly forged Empyrean steel, they were adorned with their Archangel Michael’s sigil, and an etched line down the spine of the blade, up until the false edge on the back of the sword begins, giving it a lethal looking recurved edge. The blades lacked conventional guards, and instead featured only a narrow, antiqued ore fitting that was engraved with their names and ranks, a design echoed on the matching pommel.

He admired their weapons, always had, but found the lither designs meant the wielder relied more heavily on the distance the length granted them, thus making it imperative Andre break down that distance, whether by parrying, or by taking the blade.  
It was also a weakness: once he had the blade out of the way, he’d make them work to survive the closer quarter in fighting his shorter blades thrived on.

His newest assailant met his thrusting point in line with a loose parry. Instead of yielding, Andre put brute strength behind the press attack he responded with. The angel had options: disengage the press attack and lunge, meet the press attack and wait for the response, or retreat now. Andre watched the angel mull those choices in quick succession…and choosing to take the bait. The thinner blade could only match this, however, by the angel stepping in closer and grazing his length down to midpoint, the beginning of the forte of his blade.

Andre held the press attack, waiting for this, drawing, teasing the attack with his passivity. Never once did he stray from staring down the opponent: _The eyes are truly the windows into the Soul, Andre. Watch them, closely, and nothing will ever remain a secret unknown to you._

He swore at Gabriel’s advice springing across his mind’s eye. The ferocity of his next move flooded from that unwanted memory. He broke the press with a leaping disengage under and then over the angel’s. Pivoting, he used his back hand blade to lock the angel’s in place, while ramming his forehand’s elbow into the angel’s face. He repoisted with a backwards kick to the lower torso, spinning out of reach once the angel fell away. A final heavy handed blow to the reeling angel’s blade freed it. The rest converged.

He swept his front blade in a half circle, connecting with bone shaking force on all offending weapons. He lunged hard into another’s lunge, using the indentations of his blades’ middle waves as a swordbreaker tool, scissoring that angel’s weapon in two in such a way, sparks flew. Going hand to hand now, Andre dropped like a rock under the angel, taking his legs out. Andre rolled to kneeling, quickly putting both blade tips to throat. “YIELD!”

He expected either acceptance or refusal. Only two options.

The downed angel did neither.

Instead, the Seraph stiffened, staring fixedly ahead. Andre dipped his head to the side, confused, shoving the tips closer for incentive, “I said, YIELD!”

He realized, in the echo of this last yell, the other angels had stopped their convergence as well. They even returned their blades to scabbard, coming to parade rest without command. He rose, wildly searching their impassive faces for reason. The angel he’d sat on stood as well, joining his comrades.

They seemed to be concentrating over his shoulder, into the depths of the courtyard…

He began to turn, blades coming to the ready…when the air around them pressurized, popping his eardrums. It sucked at his lungs, plucked at his heart, and killed the breeze. On his neck, over the scrawl of an elegant scripted tattoo present there, an intense itch burned his skin.

He understood. Andre sighed, “Christ.” Then ran, shoving through the line of angels with impunity. He refused to be even in the same reality as—

“Archangel Gabriel.” The lead Seraphim spoke the title and name reverently, though tinged with liberally willful surprise.  
Andre’s feet stopped carrying him in retreat, steeling him in place despite all efforts otherwise, when Gabriel’s unmistakable voice responded quietly, “You may leave us. I wish to speak to my son,” Andre flinched, “Alone.”

Wingbeats and sparkling light on high signaled this faceoff Andre refused to indulge in. He sensed Gabriel closing in, duly cautious. Andre was still armed.

“That’s close enough.”

Gabriel halted ten paces from him, wavering, as if the words punched him. Silence built, along with Andre’s rage. His session had ended too early, and the energy he needed to kill off curled in his stomach like a fiery bullwhip.

“You wanted to talk.” He ventured. “So talk. Then leave.”

He couldn’t see the wounded wincing in the angel’s expression, but it was there, yawning wide. “…You---you’re, uhm, leaning over your knee…when you lunge, still. …Try lunging from your hips… more. Don’t want to hurt yourself.”

Gabriel’s distinctive tones were couched in nervousness, an emotion he certainly wasn’t used to, and one that brought a feral smile to Andre’s lips. “…Is that the best you can do?” He called out, “Don’t even have the balls to say why you’re really here?”

The angel’s discomfort skyrocketed, buffering the courtyards with its vibes. “Andre, please.” He pleaded softly, probably for decency’s sake. But Andre wasn’t feeling decent.

He felt like killing Gabriel, truth be told. And Michael. Even Uriel. Because of what they’ve done, and hadn’t done.  
Miryam, his beloved twin, the better part of his heart and soul, locked up in her sanctuary, refusing to speak to either him or Damien. Uriel never failed to lament to Damien how Michael and Gabriel were still wrapped up in their foolish war in Father’s makeshift alternate reality. It should have ended long ago, curiosity and perversity satisfied for all, but it hadn’t. This time, Michael had done something to break his sister’s heart, when she had been sent (by Metatron of all angels!) to evaluate whether that reality’s ‘Chosen One’ would be able to bring the world back into the light of God’s love.

What she had found… was something else, something so hurtful she’d refused to discuss it. Miryam made her report to Metatron with her usual succinctness, and then locked up the borders to the world of the Sidhe. Not even her beloved dragon Draco could reach her. Their brother, Damien, who’d relayed all this to Andre, also told him how he’d had laid siege to her borders for days before giving up, telling his mentor Uriel that if she didn’t come out soon, someone would have to deal with her assignments. And of his vowing hell to pay on her honor if Michael or Gabriel came near Miryam again. Most especially Michael.

So here was Gabriel, covering his own twin’s ass. Predictable, really. Well, Andre had sides to choose as well. He’d loved Gabriel without question, without reservation…held on to him like any son would a father, through boyhood nightmares, trails, and tribulations. Gabriel had been his sanctuary. Safe, warm, constant.

But out of all that…Gabriel was also the one who’d made Andre’s final decision for him.

He spun hard, blades following, both points thrusted towards Gabriel. Andre advanced behind his thrusts, eyes flashing with a modicum of power. “You always said to let my blades speak for me.” He chided. “IS THIS LOUD ENOUGH FOR YOU.”

“Andre, you must let me explain.”

“NO! No, you can’t talk your way out of this, Messenger.”

He only stopped when the deadly ends of the weapons rested lightly on the angel’s chest, directly at his heart. The leather jacket he wore would do little to stop one good thrust putting these blades through it, and him, like butter.

Gabriel knew this…but wasn’t afraid. Andre scrutinized his face for what he was actually expressing…and found exhaustion etched in lines Gabriel hadn’t had when he’d left for this stupid war. His thick hair was slicked back with a glop of greasy product, instead of allowing his swoop of bangs to hang over one eye, like he used to. The look of a soldier instead of the diplomat.

“I’m listening,” the angel asserted carefully, maintaining eye contact. “Andre. I’m listening. Withdraw your blades, so we may talk—man to man, father to son.”

“No.” Andre said coldly. “I’ll drop them when you’re gone. Go back to your war, Archangel. I don’t have a father. And you’re no man. You’re a monster.”

The bark brought the dog to bite. Gabriel suddenly brought his forearm down on the blades. The second waves in each sliced deep into sinew, while the weight behind the force batted them out of the way and forced Andre to stumble closer. They tangled in each other’s arms. The Messenger bled profusely, but held on. “Listen to me!”

The command shook Andre; shook his blades right out of his hands. Their clatter to the stone at their feet rang out. Gabriel’s rage instantly settled, like the gale in a storm blowing itself out. “I’m…I’m sorry about Miryam. Michael--.”

“---Michael didn’t put a knife through her heart.” Andre retorted unkindly, “That was you. But he did break it. Either way.”

Gabriel’s resistance to his attitude was breaking, and instead of anger, he was resorting to plain begging, “Either way—what?! What have I done that wasn’t under Father’s orders?!”

Andre heard enough. He grappled loose, hitting the angel in the gash on his arm, earning a resounding hiss of pain. “I knew you’d say that!” He raved. “I knew it!” He jabbed his finger in Gabriel’s face, “That’s NOT an excuse, Gabe! The Nazi’s used it, remember? Didn’t work out too well for them, huh! And don’t come back with that was Lucifer, not you. No, what you did to Lucifer? Is EXACTLY what you’re doing with me and Miryam.”

Gabriel was flabbergasted, “That’s RIDICULOUS! That has nothing—!”

“—NO! It has EVERYTHING to do with it. Lucifer broke the status quo. He tried, at least. He didn’t make it, but what he did do…terrifies you to this day. Miryam is no different. She doesn’t play by yours or Michael’s rules. And your Father loves her for it—Lucifer all over again! Me?”, shrugging expressively, “I just have the shit luck to look like him, I guess. Because you stopped caring.”

Gabriel’s face contorted under the lie, “That is not TRUE! I love you, you—you miserable…stupid! little boy!”

“Ohreally?! Huh,” Andre feigned explicit contemplation, “Nope. No, way I remember it is you abandoned me. Just like Michael abandoned Miryam…and Uriel Damien, for a time. ‘Cept with us, Gabe, you couldn’t have killed me and had it hurt more.”

Gabriel hunched, drew his hand away from the gash, deep crimson painting his palm. He played with its reflecting in the misty sunlight overhead. “I never intended to have it last so long, Andre.” He lifted his hooded eyes with some resemblance of dignity, “I needed to do my duty…but not at the cost of you.”

“Well,” He bent to retrieve his blades, scarfing them in hand with one swipe, “You failed then, didn’t you?”

Lightly questioning…“Did I?”

Andre paused, gaping at the question, “Uh yeah. Ya did.”

“I got Miryam’s message.” Gabriel opened up anew, “About your not wanting to see me again.” His gait was a rolling swagger he shared with Michael, and that black motojacket ensconced him with a sense of dangerous adventure. He employed his hypnotic force now, willing Andre, an unwilling party, to stay put. God’s Messenger, indeed. “That’s why I came today. Not to apologize for Michael. But for you…my son.”

Andre swallowed against an unexpected lump in his throat as he completed his straightening with hesitant uneasiness. He chalked it up to Gabriel’s power, not any real and poignant emotion. Or tried to. “Sis a little late…Gabe.” He said lowly, softly.

“I hope not.”

They stared at each other.

“I had another son, once.” Gabriel whispered, accompanied with a doleful gaze, “David…” His voice almost broke on the name. “I never had the chance to watch him grow into a man…a man probably much like you are now. Because I lost him too. Because the Chosen, Andre…like you, Miryam…David…Michael’s Alex Lannon, you all walk such a damnably lonely one way road.” He chuckled bitterly to himself, “I thought I could save at least you. Just one…in a long line of other failures.”

Andre looked away from the fraught and worry in the angel, tongue tucked in cheek to keep his own voice steady against the rising tide of his heart. “Then why did you leave?” He didn’t bother to hide how the bottom fell out on that question, filling to the brim with pent up loss and bitterness.

Gabriel slipped under Andre’s defenses, hand cupping the back of his neck with gentle fatherly abidance, drawing a meeting of their eyes. Gabriel’s were watery black pools, unforgivingly sad and savagely burdened. The lump in Andre’s throat grew.  
“I had to do my duty. Whether you like it or not, my Father’s orders were absolute.”

Andre reached back to cover a hand that felt as familiar as his own, sighing, “You could have said no.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow, a rough rumble coming up through his chest in response, “One does not say no to our Father. Not when He orders the destruction of another reality to test a theory of Salvation.”

Andre stared, mortification overruling the warming comfort of Gabriel’s nearness. He withdrew his hand like it had been scalded, “That’s what this war is to you all? The—the systematic extermination of humans over angels? A test of a theory?!”

“Father has to know that, Himself forbid it, should His influence over the Realms ever fail, He has human safeguards in place that will bring the rest of humanity back into the Light. A terrible what-if scenario that need to be explored: completely, realistically.” He looked off from Andre, “Believe me, I take no pleasure in my part, but nobody can accuse me of failing this mission.”

Andre scoffed heatedly, “That’s illogical at least, genocide at most. It’s an alternate reality. Who’s to say any of the people living in that one are here, in ours! If you were going to really do as you say your Father wants, you should be destroying THIS reality! Is that next on the Old Man’s docket?! Are—Are we: me, my sister, and Damien, are we your salvation?! Or do we have to die too!?”

Gabriel balked, “Come off it, Andre! Stop showing how little you actually do know. We chose an alternate reality to protect ours. So the mistakes we make there won’t be made again.”

Andre tried to buck from under Gabriel’s grasp, twisting his neck, worming away from the outrageousness. “Jesus Christ, LISTEN TO YOURSELF. You’re all a bunch of fucking mad scientists playing with your puppets and lab rats! WHO ARE HUMAN BEINGS! Gabriel. Damn alternate realities, Saviors, and extermination wars! You’re deciding who lives and who dies to satisfy a whim that will probably never come true.”

Gabriel reclaimed his hold far more violently and firmly than the first time. “What if Lucifer manages to do as he originally planned. These contingencies, you’d be falling on them! The big picture, Andre! You’re so wrapped up with Miryam and your own petty worries—.”

“PETTY?!” Andre exploded. He pummeled Gabriel with two open handed strikes to the chest, shoving him backwards. “SHE’S MY SISTER.” Spittle flew as Andre did, back at Gabriel. “You ARE Lucifer, at his worst. You make worlds and you destroy them. Consequences be damned: FOR A WHIM. How does that make you any better.

Gabriel met him obligingly. His scrappy, wiry frame belayed his usual, and incredible, strength. He immobilized Andre with unbreakable holds about his upper arms. “Lucifer wanted subjugation for the detriment of society. He wanted to USE free will, not follow it. USE IT! To leave man a godless, rioting mass of mindless desire. The people in this reality have order, free will, the choice to live or to die, as they would have in ours.”

“And you,” Andre sneered nastily, “Pulling the strings like the master manipulator you are. Like Michael is. Like Uriel. They think they have a chance, don’t they? They think if they kill you, and let this Chosen One ride off into the sunset with Michael, everything’ll be fucking hunky-dory. ONLY IT’S NOT. Because in the end they all have to die anyway. Once they’ve served their purpose, you just flip the switch.” He squinted in sarcastic revilement, “What’s another universe… more or less?”

Disgusted, Gabriel tore his hands away from his foster son, “Bloody hell, what is the USE…?!” His back and shoulders visibly heaved as he fought for control.

“That’s true, isn’t it? Once your Father decides he’s had enough…”

“I don’t know if it is.” Gabriel bit out. “I don’t question.”

“Maybe you should! Or maybe…it would be over by now if you and Michael stopped fucking around, huh? If you quit your ego stroking powerplays, and Michael stopped banging the mortals---!”

“ENOUGH.” Gabriel commanded, still turned away. The heaving looked more like sobs now.

Andre lifted his chin, the picture of rebellion, “Yeah, enough. I don’t know what you’re doing. I don’t know what your Father is doing. But I do know what Michael is doing. And it’s the same mindfuck shit you’re pulling on me. Well, I got no use for it, or you, or Michael. Go back to your war—your imperfect little experiment, and those poor assholes you got for rats. Don’t ever come back…or expect me to be waiting. We’re through, Gabe. You can tell Michael, the same goes for Miryam.”

His blades sung as he lifted them again, zeroing in on between Gabriel’s shoulder blades. The angel tensed at the sound. “If that’s not clear enough, I’ll put it this way. You come near me again, or if Michael tries to contact Miryam, I’ll kill you both. Don’t believe me?” He moved his gaze down Gabriel’s body, to where blood still dripped from the gash, “Better get that arm looked it—might scar.”

Those last two words hung in the air like the heady smells of sweat and anger. Gabriel couldn’t turn around…face the empty space where Andre had stood. In that space, the ghost of another little boy, round in the face, moppy brown in hair, dashed through his heart. Funny…how David’s face became Andre’s…

**_Present day – outside of Lux_ **

Gabriel pushed from his reverie, and tightened his embrace for it, loathed to let go of Miryam now that he had her. He mentally cursed his twin’s stupidity at trying to ease his loneliness by taking any number of the women in Vega to his bed. If he had just spoken his heart, if he had just asked their Father about the girl he truly loved…! “You need to return to your Sidhe”, he murmured, the whispers of that reality ghosted down his spine as he leaned his forehead against hers. “In your kingdom you are immortal, unassailable. No creature would dare raise its hand to you. And your brothers would return to their homes as well, knowing their Lady is safe in her keep.”

Miryam sighed, flicking his long flop of bangs playfully. She pushed back from him, hands splayed across his muscled chest. “You know I can’t do that. This murder is beyond what this detective friend of Lucifer’s can cope with. If I don’t bring this enterprise down, more innocents like the little boy we found at the primary crime scene will die.”

Gabriel frowned-- damn him if he didn’t immediately think of David…“A child? You found a dead child?” He couldn’t help the crack in his voice, an odd tone Miryam couldn’t exactly pin down, save for…fear? Sure enough, he gripped her arms in a vice, that fear moved to her; really, he was just afraid that, if he let go, she would disappear into the fog.

Miryam give him a concerned once over, unsure of this turn. Something was …off about the normally gentle, caring angel. Metatron had mentioned the Extermination War had been hard on both brothers, but harder still on Gabriel, who had endured not only the horrors of war but the separation from his beloved son. He had hinted at something else, some torture the Messenger endured and was still enduring. What could have done this to the normally level-headed angel ? “Gabby? Are you all right?”

She felt the effect of the question throughout his body, muscles tightening all over. Bottling it up. His gaze sharpened, words spilling quicker and huskier, “There is something you should know. There is a dammed soul lose in this realm, released by one of my brothers. He means to use this creature against Lucifer. With Andre so close to my brother…”

Miryam tsked, seeing at once his quandary, and used her light touch over his chest to calm him. His nostrils flared with tension. He dropped his chin to hide it, embarrassed, “Sorry, I—I don’t mean to get so worked up…”

“I’ll warn him, but why would one simple dammed soul be of any danger to Lucifer?”

“I don’t understand it, but somehow my elder brother is showing signs of mortality. His little human friend shot him…winged him only, but he bled. This is not possible unless...” Gabriel stopped, perplexed.

“…Unless your Father has a plan in mind for your brother.” Miryam finished, equally confused and now frustrated. “That explains Metatron’s insistence on my being here to unwind after my original case. That miserable SOB must have known what was going on with Lucifer and wanted me to keep track… make sure he was learning his lesson.” She leaned into him again, trying to catch a breath, using him to calm her, then wished she hadn’t. On the outside of his crisp ozone scent, the earthy smells around her made her gag: garbage, bodily secretions, and the general staleness of an over-crowded city. Those were the smell she associated with the start of her adventures in the alternative realm God created to test his latest theory of Salvation; when she followed Michael into an Los Angeles’ drug lord’s warehouse full of illegal arms and ammunition and watched him load up. These weapons meant his betrayal: he would use them on the Dogs of Heaven, the lower angels he should have been leading at his father’s command, to instead save the baby who would be the Chosen One, not kill him. Needless to say, considering all that come of it, she’d hated LA’s musk ever since.

Gabriel felt her discomfort, reading semi correctly that it was the atmosphere bothering her, but that he was part of the atmosphere, “Listen to me,” He shook her a little harder than he had to, to get her attention, “Miry, this is no place for you. You need to return to your castle, to your subjects who would lay down their lives for you. You’ll never find that here…and what you could find---” He swallowed that train of thought, immediately angry at himself for it. That strained what he needed to say the most, and came out less that a plea and more of a demand. “Damn it, Miryam, take my son and go!”

Miryam had worked with former soldiers before, from Special Forces types to simple foot soldiers. There was something about this tension in Gabriel, the overloading anxiety and anger, that reminded her of those she talked to who’d completed multiple tours of duty – and never found their safe niche back home. A friend, who worked with returning veterans, had told her many returning soldiers had difficulties returning to their normal lives because of the horrors of war couldn’t be left at the doorstep, or well-meaning welcome home party complete with the tedious flag wagging. But she had never associated that with the Archangels, who had seen so much more than any mortal soldier could—constructing Creation with their bare hands come to mind first and foremost. She made a mental note to summon Metatron and read him the riot act until he told her the rest of the story he so conveniently left out.

“I need to go back inside.” she said softly, untangling herself from Gabriel’s roughened embrace as gently and unassuming as she could. “I’ll talk to Maze – she should be able to tell me more about what’s going on. Come in with me and talk to Lucifer, let him know what’s going on.”

Gabriel shook his head, reluctantly releasing her. “No, Andre and I – we… parted badly. He won’t want to see me. And Lucifer and I…we have long standing issues. It would be best you not mention speaking to me.”

Miryam shook her head, a small smile on her face. “I suspect they will know I’ve spoken to you. They can probably smell you on me.” She squared herself as though preparing for a fight, and kissed him brightly on the check, all confident bonhomie, “I’ll deal with it. Andre can be as pissy as he wants with me but he’d better be prepared for me to put my boot up his ass or to put him in a corner until he acts like an adult.” She sighed, giving the angel an exasperated grin. “Really, sometimes I think I’m the only grown-up in this relationship.”

He returned a wane smirk, “Be careful, little one. …There is a darkness here I don’t understand yet. But I will.” He patted her hand goodbye, “I will.”

Something jogged in her memory, of what he said about a damned soul set loose, when he was half way down the alley way, “Hey, wait!” She called out. He turned, walking backwards still, “I’m assuming you found out about that dammed soul from the angel who let it out. What happened to him?”

Gabriel seemed pleased to recall that very incident, a thin smile on his face. “He won’t make that mistake again.”

 

* * *

 

Inside the club, Chloe had given up trying to update Andre and Lucifer on what the forensics team had found. Andre was in a foul mood after his quarrel with his sister, and Lucifer… was just Lucifer. “Okay – if you two don’t want to hear what we’ve found I can just wait til Miryam comes back and we can call it a night.”

“Fine – do that” Andre muttered. “Come back when I’m drunker. Maybe then I’ll care.”

“You’ll never be that drunk.” Miryam’s voice, acidic in her annoyance, floated from the floor as she cut across to the bar. “Maze, a word, if you please?” She gestured towards the end of the counter, ignoring her brother.

Maze shot an outraged look at Lucifer, then tossed the rag she was holding at the sink and sauntered down to where Miryam waited. “So, what do you want?” The bartender stopped way short, scrunching her noise in pervasive disgust as a certain scent wafted her way, “Ugh! Guh, that’s disgusting! You’ve been around one of them! Archangel!”

Miryam rolled her eyes. “Say it a little louder, Maze, I’m sure there are a few patrons on the other side of the bar who didn’t hear you. That’s not what I want to talk to you about.” She dropped her voice, stepping in the rest of the way when it was Mazikeen had no intention of doing so herself, “Tell me about Lucifer. Is he showing signs of – well, for lack of a better term, mortality?”

The demoness shot a quick look back to her boss. “Who told you?” She hissed. “Is this one of their tricks?”

“Doubtful.” Miryam replied blandly. “More like the Father’s idea of teaching His son some useful lesson. Or maybe Heaven is bored. I don’t know and don’t care. What I need to know is: how far along in this investigation can I take him before he’s in more danger than it’s worth?”

Maze frowned, her anger dissipating. “I…don’t know. Neither does he. It just seems to come out of nowhere.” She surreptitiously glared at Chloe with spite. “But I’ll lay odds it has something to do with her. This only started occurring when she came into his life.”

“Lovely.” Miryam murmured. “That’s singularly unhelpful. Alright, I’ll need to figure this out as we go, then.” She sighed and started back towards the group. “By the way,” she dropped back as an afterthought, “I could use a stiff drink. Vodka on the rocks, please. And don’t be stingy.”

Not one to take orders from anyone but Lucifer, and especially from an Archangel’s human pet, Maze had half a mind to tell her where to shove it. Seeing Lucifer giving her the eye as he observed their little tête–à–tête, she instead chose a scathingly muttered, “Whatever”, and hurried about filling the order.

Miryam came back to the group by way of her brother, who was concentrating on his drink with a jaundiced eye. She smiled grimly as a wicked play formulated. With a quick pivot, she kicked the bar stool out from under him, watching him fall awkwardly backwards, just catching himself short of smacking his head on the floor. Lucifer sat forward on his stool, amused. Chloe step forward to help, only to have the Devil give her the heads-up to stay back, let this play out. “Do I have your attention now?” Miryam asked sweetly, folding her arms.

Andre leapt up from the floor with a snarl, grabbing his sister to leave marks. “What was that for?!” He demanded. Just as with Maze, the overwhelming snappy scent of ozone and something very much like cloying detergent took him off guard. He took too big a breathe of the mix and coughed, hacking out, “Gawd almighty!” He covered his nose, ogling her with venomous betrayal, shoving her away, “Been talking to Gabriel, huh? Thanks for nothing. You reek like him...”

“Who I talk to is none of your concern.” she replied coolly. “If you want to continue assisting this investigation, I suggest you put the booze away and get your ass in gear. Or I’ll deal with this myself and you can take yourself back to your monastery where I won’t have to baby-sit you.” She stared into his blue eyes with the ultimatum, tapping one foot as she did.

Andre had a reply all fired up and ready to go, but by the look of it, it would only sink him further, so Lucifer did the uncle-y thing and stomped on his foot. Andre was too busy with tears in his eyes while massaging the spot with his other foot to make a further ass of himself. Lucifer smiled winningly at Miryam, covering, eloquently, the would-be faux-pas. “So! What did your lovely CSIs’ find at the crime scene?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. “I tried to bring them up to date, but…”

Miryam smiled, seeing through the ploy and his interest. “If that’s the way you want– so be it. Draco and I can cope without help from either you.” She took the drink Maze proffered, knocked it back in one shot, and started for the door.

“Wait!” Chloe called out, giving both Lucifer and his double a nasty glare. “Look, gorgeous as that house of yours is, maybe you should consider staying closer so you don’t have to drive all that way every day. No offense, but the way your friend drives is going to get you killed one of these days. Maybe…” she hesitated, wondering why she was about to offer this, “You should stay with me. I mean, I’ve got a guest room and your brother could sleep on the sofa.”

Lucifer laughed, especially at the thought of Trixie having him wrapped around her little finger by nightfall. “Andre can stay here with me. That should keep our Romulus and Remus here apart until whatever this is between you two burns itself out. Oh, and what exactly would you do with the old dragon?”

“Who?” Chloe asked, confused.

“He means Draco.” Miryam said. “Draco and I can share a room. It wouldn’t be the first time.” She frowned at her sullen brother. “I’m fine with him being out of my hair for right now. But first,” She pointed at Andre, “I need to speak with you privately. You can say yes or no – it makes no difference to me. But if you are going to work this case with me, then you’d better be prepared to follow my lead and jump when I say jump. Otherwise, I think it would be wise for you to return to our brother’s realm and let him beat on you until you get your head out of your ass and start thinking like a soldier again.” She turned on her heel and stalked out of the club. Andre heaved a sigh, “Excuse me, folks, Her Highness calls. Pour me another, Maze. I’m gonna need it.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow on his slightly limping, slightly staggering zigzag out. “And here’s round two...fantastic girl, really,” He said to Chloe. “A toast, Detective, you’re about to gain a most interesting roommate. To Miryam! I hope she makes it interesting for him—and you."

Outside, Miryam waited for her brother, the absolute picture of stoicism. Andre swaggered over, arms spreading wide, “Alright, yer ladyship. Let’s hear it.” He couldn’t see that her fists were balled and shaking, at least not until she slammed one into his midsection. He doubled over, reaching for the ground through his gasping, “One – who I talk to and who I don’t talk to is none of your business! I’ve told you a dozen times Gabe didn’t mean to hurt me. My issues are with Michael.” She responded to his attempt at straightening by shoving him into Lux’s wall. “Two – we may be up against an established criminal organization who will exploit any weakness on our part to keep themselves in business. Now is not the time for you to get stinking drunk because you and your dad are on the outs!” He rubbed his gut, opening his mouth to argue. She cut him off by grabbing him by the shirt collar twisting it into a choke hold, pinning him to the stone. “Third – and this one is the most important, as far as you are concerned – Lucifer is showing signs of mortality. Which means, you dimwit, if we take him into a full on fire fight, he might actually get hurt. Maybe even killed. Now, I don’t know about you but I actually like this iteration of our oldest uncle and I’d just as soon not see him sent back to Hell unless he’s good and ready. So, you are going to play babysitter for Lucifer, I’m going to stick close to Chloe, and we are going to work this case to the bitter end – do I make myself clear?”

He glowered down his nose at her, “You gonna let me talk now, or you just gonna keep hitting me? Cuz then I’m gonna have to ask to hit back.” The hold on his shirt twisted up around his chin as she considered it. He huffed, exaggerated an eye roll, “Fuck sake, Miryam! Let me go! Okay? This is stupid!”

She stepped back, hands raised in agreement, “No issue with that. You are acting very stupid.”

“Look, you don’t understand…!”

“I understand.” Miryam replied angrily. “I understand you’re upset at your father for more than just me and my issues’ sake, and you want someone to take it out on. Under other circumstances…”she stopped for a moment, cocking her head curiously. “Who am I kidding? You aren’t taking this shit out on me, not today, not ever. Suck it up, buttercup. I’ve got bad guys to chase down and you are not going to get in my way. Got it?”

Andre stared at her. “Wait—Lucifer’s becoming mortal?”

Miryam tsked loudly, “All you heard out of that was about Lucifer?” She laughed critically under her breath. “Fine – you stay here, keep an eye on him. I’ll go home with Chloe and keep an eye on her. I’ll forward the reports from the forensics lab to your tablet. Try to read them before you drink yourself under the table?”

When she was gone, he allowed the tough guy shell to crack and fall away, leaving him in pieces, as the truth always did. He looked for the glow he knew had been there, the one he missed more than he would have ever admitted, knowing he wouldn’t find it. That was his truth, and those repercussions refused him peace; doomed to watching over his shoulder in false hope, always using the lie he didn’t need it, when all he prayed for…was the chance to take it back.

Across town, Philip Mortensen called the number he had been given when the client had been assigned to him. Mortensen was new to his law firm and hungry to advance to Partner sooner rather than later. Being assigned to work with such a high profile client as Maxim Leblanc had been a step up but he had turned into a nightmare walking, spoiled, entitled, arrogant, and beyond unreasonable. Mortensen had actually been happy not to hear from his client for a few days, at least until the senior partners had informed him of Leblanc’s death. He had been sure he would be blamed somehow for loosing track of his client but had been mercifully given another chance to impress. “Keep an eye on what the police are doing to find this killer” Mr. Abbott, the firm’s founder had said. “And make sure you let the family know what is going on. You were given a number to contact – I suggest you use it.”

So here he was, on the phone, calling a strange, overseas number and leaving an update on the case on the automated phone mail system. “An Inspector Sealgair has been assigned by Interpol to assist a local Homicide detective – Chloe Decker. So far I’ve heard nothing but my contacts in the police lab have told me they will have more information for me by morning.” He hung up, frowning, wondering which member of the wealthy Leblanc family he had just left a message for.

In Paris, a slender hand pressed “play” on the recorder one more time, listening to the message from Los Angeles. “Inspector Sealgair” the figure thought coldly. “Good. Now we can finally deal with that self-righteous little bitch. Maxim will be avenged.” The recorder was rewinded and the message played again…and again…and again.


	17. Pt. 17 – Girl’s night out

Chloe joined Miryam on the sidewalk outside of the club, watching as Andre stormed back into the club. “Everything alright?” she asked, looking back at the door. “He didn’t look happy.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “He’s in a funk over his fight with his dad so of course it’s my fault.” She sighed in exasperation. “Which it probably is – but not what I need right now.”

The Bentley pulled up to the curb, Draco at the wheel. “Ready to go?” he called out. His deep-set eyes scanned the area, noticing a missing member of the team.

“Change in plans – we’re going to Detective Decker’s home, at least for tonight. Do we have go bags in the car?” Miryam slid into the back seat with Chloe beside her.

“Of course” Draco replied, insulted. “I always make sure we have a change of clothes in the car in case of emergencies. What about your brother?”

“He’s staying with Lucifer. I’m sure our uncle has something in his closet he can borrow.” Miryam shrugged, looking out of the car window solemnly. “God knows, they already look alike. Maybe uncle can convince them to dress alike. Couldn’t hurt.”

“Wait – uncle? Lucifer is your uncle?” Chloe asked, astonished. “Why didn’t you mention that before?” She stopped, looking at the woman and her companion with a frown.

“He’s not exactly our uncle, though we are from the same family. Distant cousin is probably a better description. Very, very distant cousin.” Miryam put her hand over her nose and looked down the street. “Why is it that cities always smell like garbage dumps?”

Draco opened the drivers side door and crawled in. “We need to take you to your car first Detective. Then we can follow you to your home.”

Chloe looked longingly at the club, the thought of another wild ride in the elegant car slightly turning her stomach. “Maybe we could just leave my car at the precinct. It’ll be safe there.”

Miryam shrugged. “It would be better if we collected your ride now rather than tomorrow, just in case we need to separate. But it’s up to you.”

Chloe sighed. “You’re right. How about I give you my address so you don’t have to follow me – in case you need to pick up something for tonight.”

“As you wish” Draco shrugged, ushering her into the car beside Miryam. He peeled out into the street, leaving skid marks in their wake.

_**Inside Lux** _

Lucifer eyed his double as he limped back into the club. “I’m assuming that was not a happy conversation.” He made note of the way the younger man was rubbing his stomach, suspecting the lady was visceral in making her point. “Knew there was a reason I liked the girl” he thought to himself.

Andre shrugged, noncommittal. “She’s pissed at me. No big surprise. She’s pissed at everyone right now. Your little brother Michael…” he gritted his teeth at that name, “did a real number on her.”

Lucifer frowned, looking down at his drink. “I thought the boy was madly in love with your twin, not that he’d ever admit it. That boy is such a tight-ass I’m not surprised he never admitted to not being Daddy’s perfect little automaton.”

Andre snorted. “Good description for him. He and Miry could argue over any little thing – whether the sky was blue, whether the sun was hot, yadda, yadda, yadda. Seemed to be the way they communicated. It was either they argued or he just stared at her like he was trying to force her to submit. She joked around with my… with Gabriel or with Uriel or with any random Seraphim that wandered through. But with Michael…I don’t know. I swear he just didn’t get she wasn’t going to bow down and kiss his feet like his bloody Seraphim guards.” He looked across at Maze who slid another drink into his hand. “Thanks Maze.”

Maze shrugged. “No problem.”

Lucifer snatched the glass out of his hand. “You’ve had enough. Come on up to my apartment and we’ll get you settled. Then you can drink your self blind stinking drunk if you want. At least then I won’t have to carry you up to bed.”

Andre grinned. “I’m hoping you have a guest room. No offense dude, but your not my type.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?” Lucifer replied, equally entertained. “Boy, being with me would be like being with yourself. Self gratification is fine if there are not alternatives but I’ve got lots of options for you including…” he looked around and waved to a group of women. “Mini-me, let me introduce you to the Britannys. Britannys, let me introduce you to my favorite mini-me.”

Andre threw his head back and laughed, twining an arm around one of the girls and the other around Lucifer. “Never let it be said the Devil isn’t a good host.”

_**At Chloe’s House** _

Chloe set clean towels on the spare bed, wondering how the older man would feel about sleeping on the sofa. The guest bed was comfortable enough for one person but two – especially if one was as tall and broadly built as Draco, might be different. “Hope he has pajamas” she thought. A knock on the door alerted her to the arrival of her guests.

Trixie looked up at the door eagerly. “Is Lucifer coming to visit tonight, Mommy?”

“No baby, but Mommy is going to have some guests for a few days so you’ll have to be really quiet when we’re working. Okay?” Chloe opened the door, allowing Miryam and Draco to follow her in. “Welcome to my home.”

Miryam smiled at the sight of Trixie sitting on the sofa. “You have a child! I didn’t realize…you know we can always find somewhere else after tonight. I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

Draco looked down his nose at the child, watching her as intently as she seemed to be watching them. “What is the little hatchling's name?”

Miryam sighed. “She’s a child, Draco, not a hatchling.” She turned and smiled at the little girl. “So, what is your name?”

Trixie, her eyes wide, smiled shyly. “Beatrice – but everyone calls me Trixie.” She peered at the dark haired woman beside her mother with interest. “You’re pretty – are you a fairy?”

“What makes you think that?” Miryam asked gently, knowing the answer before she heard it. Children always saw things adults didn’t.

“You just look like a fairy princess out of one of my story books” the little girl replied, squirming nervously. “You kind of … glow.”

Miryam laughed gently. “Well, thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day. My name is Miryam but since I think you and I are going to be friends, you can call me Miry.” She held out her hand formally, shaking hands with the little girl. “And I think your name is very pretty. A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Trixie grinned. “Lucifer says it’s a hooker’s name but no one will tell me what a hooker is.”

Draco choked back a rumbling laugh. “Trust the Prince of Hell to be come up with that.”

Miryam rolled her eyes. “Lucifer can be very silly sometimes.”

“Do you know Lucifer?” Trixie asked, excited.

“Oh yes – he’s probably my most favorite uncle, mostly because he’s so silly. My brother is staying with him right now but your mother was nice enough to invite me to stay with her tonight so here we are.” She looked up at her older companion with a smile. “Where are my manners? Trixie, this is Draco, my dearest friend in the whole world.”

Draco bowed formally to the child, which sent the little girl into a fit of giggles. “I’ll see to our accommodations” Draco said, edging around the child and following Chloe’s gesture towards the back bedroom.

Chloe smiled at the child’s reaction. “Monkey, it’s way past your bedtime. Say goodnight to Miryam and into bed you go.”

Trixie pouted but did as her mother said, waving to Miryam as she skipped into her bedroom. “Night Miry!” she sang out.

“Good night little one” Miryam replied, a soft smile on her pretty face. She watched Chloe follow her child back to her bedroom, her mind wandering away from the case. Memories of her own childhood had become muted over the years. She had vague memories of a mother who took her to school; memories of a father who went away one day and never came back. Funerals to bury parents who were already ghosts in her mind. A school trip to a big city that had given her a chance to run away from the nuns who were raising her and find out what life was really like. Somehow those parents she barely remembered hadn’t made as much of an impact on her psyche as the strange, magical being who was to become her elder brother, a man who had taken her into his home to protect and teach her. Not as much as the brother who was later to enter her life, the wild creature who everyone believed was her twin. But there was a lack of a mother’s influence in those memories. Maybe that was why she turned into such a mother hen around her brothers, always fussing over them the way she thought Mother’s were supposed to do. They squirmed and complained but never stopped her, perhaps because they too needed that touch of family as much as she did.

“It’s a tight fit for both of us” Draco’s deep voice interrupted her reveries. “You had best take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He walked up to her and put his hand on her back. “You alright?”

“No – but I will be.” She sighed and put her laptop on the bar. “I talked to Gabriel tonight. He showed up outside of the club.”

Draco sighed. “I was afraid of that.”

“When did you know he was hanging around?” Miryam asked quietly. “Was it after we left the crime scene? That was when Andre started rubbing his tattoo. That thing is something of an early warning sign for him.”

“I should have told you but I had hopes the old one would think better of pushing himself on you.” Draco pulled up a bar stool, staring at it doubtfully as he gingerly sat down.

“He had some interesting things to tell me, including something about a dammed soul who might be a danger to Lucifer. That isn’t what worries me though. Something is wrong with Gabe, something I can’t quite put my finger on. I need to talk to Metatron and find out what he’s NOT telling me about what happened in Vega after I left. I shouldn’t have let him convince me to stay after I saw …”

“After you saw your Michael with others” he completed her thought, knowing that pain was still raw and on the surface of her heart.

“He’s obviously NOT my Michael if he could bed that many women without a thought about how it would affect me” she sighed, pulling up the files sent by the forensic labs. “And he’s not someone I want to think about right now. I have enough to worry about between Andre, Gabe, and Lucifer.”

“Why is the Prince of Hell on your list of things to worry about?” Draco asked, confused.

“Because according to Gabriel, he’s having mortality issues.” She looked around her older friend at the door to Trixie’s bedroom thoughtfully. “Seems Chloe “accidentally” shot him and he bled. I would have thought it impossible but…”

“The All-Father is trying to teach him something.” Draco murmured.

“That would be my best guess but what that lesson is I have no idea.” She started scanning the files then peered at one list. “Wait, this is strange.”

“What is strange?” Chloe asked, pulling Trixie’s door shut. She walked up and looked at the laptop.

“You found an invitation to that charity benefit with the body right?” Miryam pointed at a line on one of the lists. “So whose invitation is this?”

“Wait – remember we found clothes in that guest room that were too big for Leblanc? Maybe the other invitation was for this other man? Maybe Leblanc had a friend or lover in residence?” Chloe considered the scenario, trying to make the pieces fit.

“Leblanc was a preferential offender. The only “companion” he would have had was that little boy. But he might have had a minder. Someone the family sent along to make sure he didn’t do anything overt to get the attention of the L.A.P.D.” Miram tapped a few keys and opened another of the forensic lab’s files. “Coroner’s preliminary report – interesting how quickly it was done. Wonder who put pressure on their office to get it done so fast? He was stabbed multiple times with your typical edged weapon. The boy’s time of death is around the same as Leblanc’s. I’m betting the boy was just an unforeseen witness.”

“So what happened to his minder? Was he the killer or is there another body hiding somewhere?” Draco mused.

“One of many questions we still have to answer, though not my top one. Who was that little boy and where did he come from? Is this a random pick-up or has another branch of that human trafficking group formed? And if so, did Leblanc approach them as a client or as in Europe as an investor?” Miryam tapped the bar absently, running through the possibilities. She stared at the computer for a moment then yawned and rubbed her eyes. “Oh wow – guess lack of sleep really does catch up with you at the oddest moments. Let’s go back over this again in the morning.” She rose and stretched, holding Draco’s arm to steady herself.

The old dragon also rose, bowing to the detective as he did so. “I think it would be wise, my lady, for you to rest. Good night, Detective Decker.”

“Good night, Draco. Good night, Miryam” Chloe smiled as the old man walked his friend back to the spare bedroom and firmly closed the door. It was sweet the way he watched over his lady, as he called her, like an old uncle. The young Inspector was surrounded by people who seemed devoted to her. Even Lucifer seemed fond of her. Working with her would be interesting to say the least.

Later in the spare bedroom, Miryam sat cross-legged on the bed watching her companion try to make a nest for himself on the floor. “You know, you could just give up and share the bed with me. It’s kind of small but we’ve been in worse places.” Her brown eyes sparkled as she watched, her long dark hair out of it braids, hanging like a curtain down her back. If she had been in her keep (a drafty place at night) she would have worn a long, modest cotton gown, meant to keep her warm and to keep her sometimes puritanical mentor from thinking he needed to defend her honor, especially considering the late night visits by Fae and other magical beings that often occurred. Tonight, however, there was no cold stone castle and no angry angelic mentor. She was wearing one of Andre’s t-shirts and a pair of running shorts, her crucifix hanging from her neck.

Draco was in jogging pants and t-shirt, almost too warm for the fire breather but the best he could do considering the presence of the child. If they had been home he would have simply been in his normal form and curled up in a cove near the keep. He doubted Det. Decker would be able to cope with waking up to a large fire-breathing dragon curled around her living room. “I dare say we have but I think for both our sakes I’ll make myself comfortable on the floor rather than risk rolling off the bed in the middle of the night.”

Miryam laughed and tossed the old man a pillow. “Good night then. See you in the morning.”

Silence stretched over house as its inhabitants drifted off to sleep. Somewhere in the big city, calls are being made. An army was forming.


	18. Pt. 18 – Night time memories

_**Later that night…** _

3am – the witching hour. Gabriel lowered his leather long coat’s hood, shielded in the ether, a plane between the veils of the realms, hidden from most human eyes. He stood at the front door of a suburban home, uncomfortable with how falsely peaceful the façade of its existence felt to him—an impending fall of great expectation dwelled alongside the humans in this house, and it wasn’t just all the wondering of what Lucifer would do next to the mortal residing there. Personally, he only cared because it involved Miryam, of that he was positive. So he stood dumbly shorthanded in the solutions department in how he would induce his little girl to allow him to shadow her on this hunt. He should have mentioned this foreboding last night in the alley. Miryam liked to be prepared for conflict no matter the time or cause, but Gabriel wasn’t sure how her preparedness in this case would work with his son so adamant about not speaking to him. Dividing them further was no solution he could ever imagine being comfortable with.

He just couldn’t shake this creepy crawly chill up his spine that demanded he be within arm’s reach of Miry or something bad, something unforgiveable, would happen. If Vega taught him anything, it was to follow his gut—saved him from being blown up a time or two. Would it save Miryam…and, by extension, Andre? Were their lives yet in his hands? Only time would tell if his head or his heart were right, and playing with that was worse than Empyrean.

 _Not her, Father._ He prayed, mainly out of rote. _I care little for what punishment you have for me for my actions in Vega. I’ve lost my son; I can’t lose her._ He said an extra one, for forgiveness, before violating the sanctity of a private home that had not ask of his presence.

Gabriel found his Miry easily, drawn to the far back of the house by her restless aura—even in her dreams, she was in constant motion. He knew he was intruding, breaching boundaries he should have been respecting instead. His expressive eyes, well-adjusted to low or no light, sought her in this strange room, its vibes off, and not of the thrumming strength of her own in the Sidhe. She sprawled in this bed, long hair unbound down her back, some of it over her face. She looked impossibly young, impossibly fragile; the appealing innocent beauty her subjects wrote songs about. Miry. His mind proclaimed her name loud and clear. She whimpered softly, turned over in her sleep, restlessly plucking at the covers as she dreamed. He stroked her hair to sooth this disturbed sleep, looked around the room for a place to settle in case they reached nightmare, only to see the old dragon looking straight at him, something he shouldn’t be able to do.

“I know you are here, Archangel” He said in warning. “Go away. She will not appreciate your staring at her all night. She has enough to disturb her sleep without you. I will keep her safe. If I cannot…”

“You’ll call for help” Gabriel finished, staring intently at the dragon curled at the foot of the bed.

“I will call for help.” Draco agreed. “Now go.”

Gabriel left the old dragon with his thoughts and vital promise... to lay back and consider how things had gone so wrong.

Miryam squirmed in her bed, her unconscious mind feeling the loss of Gabriel’s protective aura. The old dream was floating to the surface again, the same that endlessly haunted her. The constant cruel reminder of how very alone she was: now and possibly forever.

_**Flashback - Finding Michael in Vega** _

Michael, Archangel and long ago Sword of God, leaves his bed. He is reticent, withdrawn, as he dresses in his usual black V-neck, and walks to the balcony of his aerie, called the Stratosphere for its towering height. The women whom he called regularly—secretly— to his bed are still sprawled in the crimson silk sheets. The afterglow of sex blossoms over their naked curves. Contented satisfaction leaves them muzzy and sated, as every other encounter with the archangel does. Their ecstasy should have left him feeling the same: it never did. He looks away, instead seeking the lights of Vega below.

Becca Thorn, one of Vega’s Senators, a powerful woman in her own right, and of the preeminent House Thorn, watches his brooding reverie from her corner of his mammoth bed. She should allow him this moment. It is just his way. He tells her time and again: it has to stop. So she tells him to stop it. His eyes become hard, his gaze distant, touch cold, when she does…but he doesn’t stop. Just becomes that stony shell after every single night spent with her and the others, torn between regret…and…? She pauses in her thoughts, sitting up languidly, eyes coursing over the hard striations of back muscle visible through his shirt. What else does the Archangel battle in his afterglow? Surely not the impression of love?

…Or could it?

She finds her bandeau bra and matching boyshorts, and quietly dresses; pulls on a gauzy golden cover-up Michael gifted her after their first night together. Becca never wavers in her gaze on him as she does so; the heat of passion with which he’d taken her is still very much on her mind. His stillness at the balcony is mesmerizing; then again, he…is mesmerizing.

She is careful in how she approaches him—Michael’s emotions are always turbulent post-sex. The clinical part of her brain wonders if this is a psychological response to intimacy in all angels. The rest of her, including the parts that sweetly ached, reached out to him…

“You were a naughty boy tonight.” She whispers teasingly, standing just below his shoulder in height, and close enough to be kissed. The joke falls flat; she should know better by now, but never ceases to try. The small smile she might receive in turn is worth it… But the flinch across his elegant features is not. Becca is taciturn in her semi-apology, even a little reproachful. That doesn’t do well either, but she can’t help it. “You know, this would be more enjoyable if you didn’t hate yourself afterwards.”

His still silence stretches out between them uncomfortably. He finally relents, “Any chance of my having children…is too great a risk.”

Her touch is feather light on his shoulder, still cautious, yet fingers flex over the hard groove of muscle she finds there, “Would that be so bad? Vega needs children…and you’re her protector after all.”

He is doubly disquieted, skin tightening over a deep frown, “Not children like that…” Becca takes a chance, folding herself around him; closing her eyes in validation when he willingly returns to hold. His body is warm, but unyielding—he hasn’t broken off the self-incriminations completely. She runs a soothing hand down the length of his torso. His abdominals ripple taunt under shirt in response. His voice rumbles through her, “This has to stop.” He peels her away, holding her by the shoulders in terse examination. He is unendingly pleased with what he finds. She is beautiful…but a beautiful, intelligent, human woman such as herself needs more than he can give. They both know this. So she replies as she always does, eyes flashing defiantly, chin held high, “Then stop.”

They hold this battle of wills for a moment. Her spirit reminds him of another beautiful, intelligent, human woman he knew, once, and loved just the same. Usually he breaks first, snatching his trademark gray chevron trench coat, leaping from the Stratosphere in a neck breaking descent that sends her heart to her throat—the snapping of unfurling wings signals the end of the fight for that round. This time, he holds firm, and she breaks, embracing him anew. He is expressly hesitant to return the same, but he does eventually, quite slowly. His gaze finds the lights of Vega again. She does the same, feeling, correctly, talking would only ruin the moment…

The intensity with which he beholds the city below him is interesting. Again, the clinical portion of her brain wants to know just how different his sense of sight is from humans’. “What do you see?” Becca must finally ask, curious.

He shrugs, choosing to maintain the silence. She peers up at him, vaguely critical, then returns to her own viewing of the city. Her hand absently moves from his stomach to chest, resting firmly over his heart. Michael hopes she won’t notice its pounding. The guilt of breaking his vows to his Father, the fear of siring children, and that very excuse he gives her every time she asks why, it’s all very real. It is, however, not all that tortures his mind with every woman he takes, and most definitely more so with Becca. He knows it’s because she’s so much like her: ridiculously strong willed, hugely singled minded, outrageously independent…and so damn beautiful…

It’s the sheer amount of sorrow he is weighed with, even after twenty-five years, from losing Miryam at Paradise Falls. He wonders, masochistically, if she would have approved of Becca.

_No. If she had lived, none of this would have occurred. We would have been alone in a strange world with only each other to lean on. My needs would have been different._

Becca wondered what he saw in the lights of Vega: the past, and what could have been. He often, and bitterly, berated himself over why he’d never approached Miryam when he had the chance. All that he was, the breadth of power he commanded; Archangel, the greatest in God’s stables…and he couldn’t even tell a mortal how he truly felt.

_Heh. Some things do not change cross realities._

He figured it out in the moments he watched Jeep Hanson weep over the dead body of his beloved, Charlie, mother of the Chosen One, while Michael held their baby son in his arms, and secretly vowed to protect this boy with every breath he took. It was fear that tripped him up that day, made him too slow to save Charlie. It was the same fear that held his tongue around Miryam: the fear of losing. Losing control, losing the Chosen One, losing everything... losing Miryam if her heart had not been his to take. He had known she’d found many of the men she'd encountered appealing, never having the courage to ask if she felt anything more than that. Yet again that fear of losing...control, this time, of his formidable temper, at the thought of another man even touching her, as he had not—could not.

With Becca, this fear was astonishingly similar, a cold familiar specter waiting to strike. The similarities between the two women, his heartache of the lost chance with his true  
love, forbidden though it was, drove the self loathing. With one similarity enough to have to find the end of it, all of it, before fate doomed another he loved: Becca was mortal...as was, technically, Miryam. He was not. It would not have been enough for Miryam. How long would it be before it would not be enough for Becca?

His focus returns to the present, razor sharp. His heart beat settles. With her hand still splayed on his left pectoral, Becca acutely feels this focus tighten the muscle, his whole body, with assured readiness.

Panic grips her at first, thinking that he has indeed spotted something, a threat, in the night. She clenches him tightly, bewildered in her own search. "Michael, what is it? What do you see!"

But his gaze returns to scour hers instead. He holds her near. Kisses her deeply, pulls away to trace her cheek and jaw line as if it's the most fragile of porcelain. She takes his hands to press them against her face. "Michael, what is it?" The intensity he'd had for Vega lies upon her like a heavy blanket. He's taking in the warmth of her skin, the swell of her breasts, her lithe body, as if he's never seen it before...or never will again.

"Michael...?"

With real sadness, he kisses her one more time. When he pulls away, his lips are wet with her tears. "You deserve better, Becca. You always have. A woman such as yourself: mortal...and very beautiful, should find an equally mortal man to love. You were correct when you said Vega needs children. Mortal children. Born of mortal human parents. Find a true man, Becca, a good man...bear him many sons. I will not be the next destroyer of this world by giving it monsters. Nor will I make you suffer needlessly. This world has had enough of that from my kind.

Becca refuses to listen, snatching his hands back when he tries to leave her. "It's my choice, Michael. Their choice too!" She jerks a look toward his bed. "But it's still my choice to love you!"

Michael puts a marked distance between them, "It is not. You say it is...but it is who I am, that compels you. Becca, I cannot love you the way you need to be loved."

Becca moves to close the gap between them, fighting back through her tears, when Michael freezes. She halts mid step, gulping. This time he has seen something. Sensed it. And it has him instantly on edge. He immediately and violently pulls her behind him. She hangs on his back, peering around him earnestly. Intently searches the edges of his bedroom where the candle light does not reach. He looks too, to his bed full of slumbering courtesan...to where his trench coat hangs; underneath, his dual Empyrean steel blades. Curses not having been more aware. The shift in the room's energy had been poignantly clear.

Michael reaches behind him, motioning for Becca to take his hand. She latches on. "Go to the bed, quickly. Stay low. I can protect you all better if you're together." She complies, rushing to crouch next to the mattress. She peeks over to see Michael making a slow circle of the room, ending at his trench coat hanging near the door. Underneath she sees the glint of steel.

Suddenly the coat is flung from its hangings on its on accord, tangling about Michael's face, momentarily blinding him and putting him off balance. His blades also removed by the unseen force. Becca rushes to her feet, yelping despite herself when both tips land at Michael's throat. He struggles to disengage from the coat, fuming at such a simple distraction tactic succeeding on him. He wraps the garment around his forearm for padding, sideswiping the blades out of line. It isn't Gabriel, or another angel, but the energy he senses is familiar, and it’s taunting him. He reaches out with a covered hand to grab the closest blade for a good hard yank, but the blades scissor past him, their wielder pivoting by him, out maneuvering Michael, to form a dangerous cross sectioning of steel  
at his neck. He stops mid reach, recognizing the move. He knows his assailant, and is weakened substantially by the realization.

The being reveals itself, hands, arms, and then body put behind the suspended weapons. It's tall, shrouded in a similarly translucent robe as Becca's, only it's a shimmering black, and made opaque by several layers. The hood is deep, obscuring all features. Tendrils of foggy mist creep at their feet. Cocks its head in sarcastically inquisitive consideration, and speaks churlishly. "You're slipping, Michael."

He drew back, painfully made aware his hunch was right. The being removes its hood to reveal the pretty face of a dark-haired young woman.

“Miryam!”

Becca rose, sensing the overt danger was passed, but the subtler hostility was not. His precisely written self-control slips for a moment, revealing a part of him, his soul, she had never known nor ever touched. Blithe emotion undercuts him: from perverse surprise, to euphoric joy, to overwhelming shame, and back again. “How?!

The blades lower, flipped in hand to grant their return to their owner. Michael takes them. “Well, if you had bothered," The woman drawls, shifting to stand with one hip higher than the other, arms crossed over chest, “To ask your Father what happened to me when he gave you back your wings, you wouldn’t have to ask that question.” She moves about him, taking in his aerie’s opulence... and the naked disarray of his bedfellows. The women who, finally awake, follow Becca's quiet urgings to get up and out, and, needlessly so, to say nothing.

“Having a good time, are we?" Miryam inquires loudly, "I guess female and breathing is your type now, hmm?”

Michael blinks, snapping to, mood souring. “That's not your place, nor any of your business!”

Of course their first conversation was an argument. Just like old times.

“Oh really?" Her eyebrows arch in delicately construed exasperation. "Huh." Her musing is exaggerated. "Father forbid you would have to explain how you ended up bedding multiple partners after having told me carnal knowledge with humans was forbidden.” She casts a disparaging glance at Becca, who tries to extricate herself from the confrontation. "No, you stay." And the way she says it makes it clear Becca better. Michael twitches at the command; neither woman takes well to being ordered about. Becca's face darkens with ill mannered confusion as she complies, snapping an equally dark look Michael's way.

Miryam approaches Becca, a lioness stalking another. Michael follows her, intent on leaping in should it become necessary. Becca wasn't afraid to swing, neither was Miryam.  
She looks the human over dismissively...obviously not worth the energy. “Mmm. Pretty I suppose. Well put together. Eyes a little far apart." Miryam grunts, shaking her head. "Hope this bitch was worth it. I have my doubts but then,” Her next vulgarity amuses her, "From the looks of the ones on your bed, your taste appears to be all in your mouth.”

Becca exhales, repulsed and deeply shocked. Michael snarls, moving swiftly into Miryam to put her up against the nearest wall, pinning her there. “Enough!" Outrage froths his voice low and rough. "I have less patience for your attitude now than when you were my student. Remember yourself!"

Miryam looks down with a quizzical eye and removes his forearm from across her throat. A grimly nasty smile forms on her face pretty face. “You’re not my teacher anymore." She jeers. "If you don’t like what I’m saying, then don’t listen. Oh wait, you NEVER did listen. You just assumed you knew best about EVERYTHING. Did it ever enter that thick head of yours that I LOVED you? Not as a father, not as a teacher. Loved you, just you. Guess it’s a good thing it never did occur to you – saved me the humiliation.”

She throws her head back to laugh, peering down at him through eyelashes. "You hypocrite! You dared to tell me this was wrong, a sin I would be committing against your Father. Yet that doesn’t seem to have stopped you. But then, who am I to second-guess you? Nothing special. Not archangel, a creature evidently exempt from things like loyalty, honor, and morals!”

Now Michael can't retreat from her fast enough, stumbling back like he'd been struck. Becca reaches for him, whispering his name in dismay over a seemingly unprovoked  
attack. Satisfied with her verbal handiwork, Miryam returns her hood in place, robes moving about her in an air of adieu.

Still stung, Michael redoubles forward, grabs her shoulder. All that they had been before, all that he longed for with her, all that he believed gone—the fear of losing would not  
stop him this time. Before Becca as a witness, basked in swimming candle light, Michael's heart felt tenderness for Miryam pours out. “Don’t go." His voice thickened in this confession, "I… need you.” He drops the hood to trace her cheek gently, willing her to remember what had been between them before Paradise Falls.

Miryam is hardened to his affection, shrugging off his touch coarsely, brisk coldness in her eyes and heart. “That might have worked before I walked into this room. Now all I want is to go home and wash off the stench of your hypocrisy.” She bundles herself tighter in the fabric’s folds, swaddling herself until she begins to fade into the darkness. The foggy mist intensifies. Before she vanishes completely, Miryam hesitates a moment, bringing to bear a hint of pale face as she half turns to her former friend. “Tell Gabe Miry says she thinks he’s an ass, and that his child Andre wants nothing more to do with him. Maybe that will knock some sense into him. I doubt it. You're too alike. You both never give a damn about anyone but yourselves."

She's gone then, into the darkness, the mist obscuring the pathway.

Michael foolishly reaches after her. A chilly handful of air is all he gets. He covers his face, searching blindly for bedpost to lean his forehead on as the pain he’s suppressed for twenty-five years threatens to overwhelm him. Physically, emotionally, mentally, he is drained.

"Michael." Becca is instantly at his side, hands grubbing shirt, the physician in her searching for injury, the psychologist in her hunting for a soothing respite for him...The  
lover...confused, in need of respite herself. When Michael is composed enough to lower his hand from his eyes, she asks coaxingly, "Who is she?

He takes a sobering breath, "A test...one that I failed.

"I don't understand."

He relinquishes the post, seeking the open balcony again, a cold compress on his burning face. Her tongue was still a harsh whip. The sprawl below is inviting in its anonymity.  
“She once had the best part of me: my heart, my faith in my Father. The one I sacrificed to bring the Chosen One into this world, whose loyalty I never questioned. It seems..." He retrieved his coat, secured his blades, squared his shoulders in preparation, "... she should have questioned mine.

Without another word of goodbye, or even a backward glance, Michael leaps. Becca rushes forward, skin tingling in the cold night air, to watch in despair, and count how long it takes him to flex his black wings open; to save himself. Far too long. Always outrunning his pain, never getting farther than his own mind allowed. The echo of a haunting past...just at his wingtips...

**_In the Heavenly realm_ **

Gabriel’s suddenly intensified interest in Miryam was disturbing on several fronts. He’d always been fond of the girl, but now he was trying to create a new, more intimate relationship with her than he had before. It was obvious why: Gabriel was estranged from his son…his Chosen One had fled. But to try to pull The Sword of God’s Lady away…

This was dangerous territory… shaping up along the lines of Vega’s torrid tale of Chosen Ones, love, and loss…and he had no intention to be on the wrong side when the war did come.

His fingers tingled for the old fight, reaching for his dual blades time and again. His heart begged him to stop this tragedy before it unfolded and save this Chosen One before she met the same fate as his last. His mind…wickedly enumerated Gabriel’s betrayal, conveniently forgetting it was Gabriel who stood by him, albeit out of his mind, when Alex Lannon was taken from him.

Now Gabriel stood on the other side once more, cavorting with those who supported the one being who linked both realities in a terrifying conclusion. The Son of Morning was rising again…and Michael was alone this time against him. But like they had promised at Vega’s onset: the mistakes made there would never be repeated. Lucifer was a mistake. Gabriel…was a mistake. Allowing Lucifer to have two Chosen Ones under his thumb: the endgame he would rather die than see. Allowing Gabriel to break Miryam…seduce her…perhaps even give her to Lucifer… the idea of the Son of Morning besting him turned his stomach. He tasted bile, and spit. Lucifer would not have victory twice.

“What did you expect out of this travesty?” Metatron’s acidic voice floated into his consciousness. The new “Voice of God” was ever at Father’s side, especially now that the Messenger was damaged by Vega, beyond reproach. “Your brother is without his child and she is without her—”

“—Enough! I am well aware of my sins. I have no need of you to remind me.”

“Well, someone needs to remind you this isn’t all about you.” Metatron snapped. “I like the girl and would rather continue to be her friend for generations to come. But if you and your brother don’t find a way to heal this breach, Father may choose to create a new Triad and leave this failed experiment to die on the vine. Since that precedent,” he added snidely, “has been set. …And it’s not just you and your brother that will be affected by this. Your brother Uriel is fond of his charge. If this triad dies, he will pay for your mistakes.”

“Father will not blame the young ones for our failures” Michael protested, that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach warning him he was wrong. If Vega, a semi-controlled experiment, could fail so spectacularly under His Hand…He would kill them just as easily.

“Maybe – maybe not. Is it worth the pain to find out?”

Michael was sure Lucifer would reveal the answer very soon… for that, he needed to time think, plan. Take the fight to them, before it crashed in on him. Use Vega’s fire. If there was one thing he learned in Father’s experiment of Salvation, it was to always follow his gut…and his gut spoke war.

**_Early morning: Lux_ **

Lucifer raised his head from pillows with drowsy attentiveness to the mystery sound that had just awakened him. He shoved one of the Brittanys away petulantly, her nearness suddenly making his feel claustrophobic. Picking up his robe, he glided out to his living area, still straining to hear the sound. Walking past his guest room, he peeked in the open door, seeing the sprawled figure of one of the other Britannys, stretched alone across the bed. Andre’s clothes from last night were strewn across the room. Have to talk to the boy about picking up after himself. He thought, grinning knowingly. Maze suddenly appeared at his elbow.

“You need to see this.”

Lucifer followed his demon bodyguard down the stairs to the club. Tables and chairs were pushed aside, pinpointing the sound he heard, to create an open area in the center of the room. The lights were low, and a soft, oddly discordant tune played softly in the background. His doppelganger, Andre, commanded the clearing. Shirtless with his eyes closed, knees bent, and hands clenched in front of him, he cut a striking figure. Tall, gazelle-ishly lean, with a rather endearing case of bedhead. A large, colorful dragon tattoo adorned his back in full, the wings open across his broad shoulder blades, the head curled to gaze an absorbing stare from one shoulder. The mirror across the room reflected a scintillating front view of his six-pack abs pulled taut to support his core. Winding Celtic designs tattooed his upper arms, elaborate bracelets circling his biceps. As they watched, he slowly flowed into what Lucifer recognized as a Tai Chi routine. He danced deliberately, swaying through his movements, arms moving in circles, to a whip move, then on to a lunge and a leg whip. The athleticism and control over his muscles was hypnotic.

“He’s impressive.” Maze admitted grudgingly. “Good form.”

“The routine or the body performing the routine?” Lucifer whispered. It was odd to see himself like this, body rippling, graceful as a dancer yet poised to strike like scorpion’s stinger. The face – his face – serene, lost in meditation. Serenity of body and mind was not his expertise…

“Yes.” she replied, stuck on every move.

“Yes, what?” Andre faced the duo. He put his hands together to bow briefly to his uncle, grinning as he looked up. Despite their quiet approach he’d known they were watching. The Devil and his demonic bartender admiring his form (both physical and martial) amused him, so he’d played to it.

Maze stalked around him in a jaunty circle, running her tongue over teeth, “Yes, your form is good.” Red nails ran along his back and arm, leaving pink scratches on his top row of abs.

“Maze…” Lucifer admonished, unwilling to share this new friend with her. She smirked, fingers flexed in a hovering claw, taunting, “Jealous?”

“It’s cool.” Andre shrugged, snatching up a towel from the sideline. “Sorry I woke you. Sometimes I need to stretch out after I meditate. This is about as good a spot to do it. I’ll put the tables back?”

“No, that’s fine. We have staff for that.” Lucifer waved off the younger man’s offer. “So, have you sufficiently worked up an appetite, then?”

Andre grinned. “Shower first. Oh, uhm, thanks for the intro to Britanny last night, but, uh, let’s keep this between us? Miry couldn’t care less who I sleep with but my girlfriend might not be so forgiving.”

“Committed relationship?” Lucifer sympathized, judiciously surprised to hear Andre was so attached—perhaps he figured that part of him that scorned meaningful attachment because it never lasted the way it began…would be in Andre too.

“Hell no!” He flung his towel at him as they walked together. “She’s a shape shifter.” He explained. “Problem is, her physical form isn’t the only thing she shifts.” Lucifer’s eyebrows shot up, a purring smile appearing immediately, “Ohhh. Do tell, you lucky boy.” Andre shoved at him, “Heh, no, not like that. But, you know, some days she’s good with being friends with benefits and others she’s all about putting a ring on it.” He shrugged, swinging towel over the shoulder with indifference. “I don’t ask her who she sleeps with when I’m not around and she usually doesn’t ask me. Usually. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Lucifer regarded him with quasi paternal compassion, “I understand completely.” Putting his arm around the boy who was as much his as he ever was Gabriel’s, seeing now why the Messenger couldn’t hold on to him. And that was as frightening as it was thrilling. “If it were me…well, I probably wouldn’t care!”

Andre laughed out loud, “True. …Hungry?”

“Famished. C’mon…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback is based on a scene from the first season of Dominion - the pilot episode actually.


	19. Pt. 19 – Finding the next clue

_**In the Heavenly Realm…** _

Gabriel reluctantly dropped his hood. Caught.

He’d reappeared in his chambers, figuring it the safest since he’d locked them down before leaving. The Scholar was wise, though, and waited for him, having caught the Heart’s auric signature in his basin of attuned holy water while transcribing. Gabriel thought he was sufficiently covert; his youngest brother just had his ways…

Uriel circled him, white and midnight blue robes flowing in snaps of fabric around a well-built form; he was like his twin Rafael in that respect, though blonder and fairer. Right now, he was mightily unimpressed with what he saw before him. Once the Heart, now just an infiltrator coming in through the back door; most unbecoming. His blistering baby blues sparked with this disgruntled dismissal…“Where have you been keeping yourself?”

“…Do you really have to ask.” Gabriel slung off his coat, tossing it wherever, as he went for the empty goblet on his desk. A decanter full of wine sat beside its matching cup. He poured to the rim and gulped it down. Uriel pursed his lips, sauntering over, arms crossed, to confront him. “Personally, I know where you’ve been---.”

“Because you spy on me.” The goblet refilled.

“Because I’m worried about you.” He replied shortly. “Just as I worry about Michael…Now that you make it a point to beat fellow angels half the death, you’ll pardon my curiosity.”

Gabriel lowered the chalice, “So Amenadiel had the balls to show himself, eh. More of a credit to his order than I figured…”

“Did you have to do that to him?”

“Did he have to disobey a direct order, go against Father’s wishes? Heh. No. He didn’t. Does that answer your question?”

“For Michael, no.”

Gabriel snorted into his drink, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve, “And he went to Michael…” He sighed, almost sing-song. “Predictable—his kind always run to their protector. So? I hope Michael reinforced my discipline?”

Uriel was reticent, dropping his indignant airs, “In fact, he didn’t. He blames you. …Gabriel, I think he’s cracking up.”

The Messenger took great pause at this, “What do you mean?”

“You heard me. Cracking up—giving into the madness, losing himself in Vega again!”

Gabriel moved his lips in wordless speech, chewing the inside of his mouth, drawing a coppery slick on his tongue at that news—the inevitable. It never resolved in the first place; they came home in pieces, thinking home would glue them back together. The cracks were covered like a wad of gum on a dam’s first little fracture; the pressure built up behind it, widening the crack, loosening the patch, until at that crucial instance it fails. Gabriel was getting there himself; for what Michael faced, most of it alone and distrusted, his was already leaking…

“What can I do about it? Am I any better?”

“Talk to him. The least you can do.”

The Messenger’s laughter honked ungraciously, “Oh, that’s priceless! Truly fucking priceless…”

“Gabe!”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Uri!” He lambasted him, “Raffe’s said it all at one point or another—your ears aren’t virgin. ...How can one blind man lead another blind man anywhere but down a deadend? How can I tell him…it’s going to be okay, when I know it’s not, and it never will be? How—how can I even look at him, and be anything less than a hated reminder. I’m no comfort, I’m a bloody bad memory!” The draught hurled from his hand, splashing and spilling a far-flung path. Uriel jumped out of the way. He ogled the clattering. Then his brother—Gabe was making his escape, snatching his coat.

“Gabe!” Uriel caught him by the armful, grappling with him to force an embrace. “Wait. Wait, please.”

Gabriel’s struggling eventually waned to a vain twisting.

“I need you to hear this.”

Looking all the parts a repentant eavesdropper, Uriel relayed what he’d heard Metatron tell Michael of Father’s plans, and the effect they had on the rattled Sword. By the time he was finished recounting their brother’s descent into firm delusions of losing Chosen Ones, conspiracies of betrayal, and gut hunches leaning towards war, Gabriel hastily made that escape to the physical realms. If Michael’s dam broke, Gabriel’s would be the only one strong enough to stand in his way—with Miryam and Andre caught in the middle.

Uriel left for the realms not long after—he needed Damien. Desperately.

 

* * *

 

That morning, Miryam, still dressed in her sleep shirt and shorts, climbed over her bodyguard still snoring on the floor. _I hope he didn’t keep everyone awake,_ she thought. _He sounds like a gravel mixer_. She went to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee, making a mental note to order in supplies so as not to inconvenience her host. It wouldn’t be fair to have the young detective finance her vegetarian lifestyle – or Draco’s meat lover’s cuisine. As the coffee brewed, she looked around the quiet, comfortable living room with a frown. She could have sworn last night someone other than Draco was in the bedroom with her. It had the familiar pull of Gabriel’s energy, but this morning…considering her dreams had been less then relaxing, leaving her as tired this morning as she had been the night before, she wasn’t sure if she hadn’t just hoped for it to be him. 

Chloe’s master bedroom door opened and the detective wandered out, hair tousled from sleep, following the smell of coffee. “Sleep well?” She looked at the rapidly filling coffee pot with appreciation. Looks like INTERPOL agents had at least some of the same vices as overworked homicide cops.

“As well as can be expected.” Miryam shrugged, “I’ve had off and on insomnia since the raid on the warehouse.” She picked at an invincible piece of lint on her t-shirt, not looking up at her host. “Being in a bed, or a house, that isn’t mine makes it harder for me to get comfortable enough to just sleep.”

“Understandable.” Chloe sympathized, walking around the island bar and pulling cups out of her cabinets. “That had to be a waking nightmare.”

“I’ve been in enough nightmare situations that this shouldn’t have been any different but it seems to have stuck with me. Having to re-visit it hasn’t made it any easier.” Miryam pulled a gallon of milk from the fridge. “Draco should be up in a bit. He’s usually up before I am, but my issues have been keeping him awake. He was sleeping quite soundly just now.”

“Sound being the operative word.” Chloe giggled. “I wandered out here sometime last night and could hear him through the closed door. How do you sleep through that?”

“I’ve gotten used to it.” Miryam admitted with a laugh. “He’s followed me through enough fire fights that I’ve just become immune to it. Andre used to stick cotton in his ears when he had to share a room with us. He’s more sensitive to sound than I am.” The memory of her twin, curled up in a fetal position and pulling the pillow over his head when the old man really started sawing logs, popped into mind.

“That boy snores too.” A grumpy voice complained. Draco dragged himself into the kitchen area. His long grey hair hung limply around his face and one pant leg hiked up to almost to his knee. The t-shirt he wore, with a Celtic dragon on the front, was wrinkled. He was an incongruous sight compared to his previous satirically perfect mode of dress. “And much louder, I might add, so he really hasn’t a leg to stand on in that respect.” He shooed his mistress out of the kitchen and proceeded to raid Chloe’s refrigerator, pulling out eggs, bread, and other items. “With your permission, Detective, I’ll make breakfast.”

“With or without your permission.” Miryam murmured, a small smile forming. “And before you ask, I’m normally a vegetarian – not a vegan – so my diet isn’t as restricted as you might have thought. I just haven’t had much appetite lately.” She poured herself a cup and dropped sugar into it, ignoring the milk she had pulled from the refrigerator. One sip and she knew she had better find a coffee shop close by soon. Making coffee was not one of her strong points.

“Does your hatchling eat in the morning?” Draco asked, ignoring his lady’s teasing comment, taking the cup from her hand for a sip. The look on his face confirmed Miryam’s chagrin. He replaced the cup on the counter with a sigh. “If she does, what would she eat?”

Chloe blinked, then realized the older man must mean Trixie. “Most times she has cereal and toast. Lucifer made her omelet once when he was over here but she’s usually stuck with something quick from me. …And on that happy note, I need to get her up and ready for school.” She waved towards a desk in the corner as she started into her daughter’s room. “My laptop is over there, help yourself.”

“Thanks – brought my own.” Miryam pulled out her own laptop from her bag and set up on the desk, check email for updates on the case. “Well – this is interesting.”

“What is?” Draco asked, frowning at Chloe’s lack of what he considered ingredients essential to a good omelet. “No fresh herbs, no pancetta, no goat cheese – what does this girl eat?” he thought, holding up a package of shredded cheese like it had suddenly grown legs and mouthparts.

“I have a message from the group responsible for organizing that charity benefit where Max’s body was found. They didn’t have his name on their possible donor list but did send two invitations to the law firm that handles his family’s business here. They often get such invitations for clients who prefer to keep their donations anonymous so it’s possible someone in the firm just passed two of them along to Max and whoever was living with him.” Miryam tapped her fingers absently. “Maybe they can tell us who that second person living in the house was and where they have gone? At the least maybe tell us if he had live-in help or a bodyguard. That might account for cheap clothes and the extra invitation.”

“Good luck getting lawyers to voluntarily tell you anything.” Draco groused, tossing bread into the toaster, muttering about “bloody American tastes” under his breath.

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Chloe popped her head from Trixie’s doorway—it was way too early for Dan…“Anyone expecting company?”

“Not us.” Miryam said, pulling her Desert Eagle from its locked holster compartment in her bag. She held it behind her back as she went to door. Better safe than sorry – especially considering the types that she had found working for traffickers. She cautiously looked through the peephole then sighed, backing up to open the door.

“Don’t shoot!” Andre’s amused voice echoed from the entrance. “We come bearing food.” He stepped gingerly past his twin, holding up a bag of pastries like the peace offering it was, and let Lucifer precede him with the coffee. Miryam pursed her lips in light annoyance and returned to her laptop. Her Desert Eagle was vigorously thrust back in its holster.

The Devil ventured closer, extending one venti-sized cup of dark roast to the young woman, admiring her sleepware. Even messy, the girl was a beautiful sight: all long legs, tanned skin, and tangled hair. He understood his little brother’s attraction (though not his reticence). If she had been his student, well. “I’ve seen what the Detective keeps in her cupboards. Trust me, you’ll like this much better.”

Andre, having seen Miryam wasn’t about to douse anyone with the hot coffee, joined Lucifer and waved a chocolate croissant under her nose. “So – will this work for an apology?” He smiled winningly at his sister, looking more like his uncle than he had last night. “There are more if this doesn’t work.”

She sighed in exasperation, giving him a look that froze lesser men, but snatched the pastry. “You’re still an ass – but at least you’re an ass bearing food. I might be willing to cut you some slack since you do have more of these.” She lifted the laptop lid, coffee and croissant in hand, and continued to read through her email.

Seeing he’d won that round, Andre smiled smugly at Lucifer. “Told you it would work.” He settled the bag on the bar top and slid a smaller one towards the old dragon, who took a sniff and grinned. “Didn’t forget you, old man – a bag of bagels with cream cheese.”

“You have a good memory, little dragon.” Draco replied, taking a cup of coffee from the travel carton Lucifer held. “My thanks.”

“Lucifer!” Trixie ran from her room squealing. She threw herself at the Devil, happily hugging him. Chloe came out much slower, smirking at the routine Lucifer never got over having been established in the first place. Lucifer stiffened, hurriedly handing off his precious cargo to Draco. “Yes, well, good morning spawn of Decker. Shouldn’t you be in school?” He awkwardly tried to pry her hands from around his waist.

“Going to introduce me to your new girlfriend, uncle?” Andre called out loudly, earning a rousing look of damnation.

Trixie considered her favorite person, compared to the other man, slightly confused since they were the same. She untwined from Lucifer, who heaved a “Thank you!” in between eyelift to the heavens, and muttering something probably indecent about his Father’s choices of torture for him, and made her way over to Andre, “Who are you?” she asked shyly.

Andre smiled broadly, already won over, and held out his hand. “I’m Andre. Lucifer is my uncle. What’s your name?”

The child solemnly took his hand. “I’m Trixie. You look just like Lucifer.” She examined him intently for a moment. “But you glow just like Miry does.”

Andre nodding, trying not to laugh---the more precocious the better, he always thought. He, unlike Lucifer, liked children, because they were so much like him: fearless and honest to a fault. This one was killing it. “Well of course I do, sweetie. She’s my twin. She’s reeeally, reeeally pretty, isn’t she?” He cut a sideways look at his sister’s less than stylish sleepy chic with a grin. His sister, in return, stuck her tongue out at him.

Trixie smiled too, excited someone else saw what she saw. “She is! I think she’s a fairy princess.” she added, quite serious.

“Hm,” Andre knitted his brows in deep thought on this point, bringing Trixie closer as she breathlessly awaited the verdict, “Ya know…since she’s a fairy princess… does that make me Prince Charming?”

He could tell she was over the moon with the idea, so naturally she nailed her response: “Can Lucifer be Prince Charming too?”

“Andre….!” Lucifer shuddered, feeling surrounded. To Chloe, who was judiciously covering her mouth to hide a splitting wide smile, “Doesn’t she have to go to school?!”

Chloe composed herself with a firm clamping of lips to collect her daughter, herding her back towards her bedroom. “Monkey, you need to get your backpack. Your dad will be picking you up soon.”

“Don’t you like being irresistible, uncle?” Miryam drawled from her station, waggling her eyebrows.

“Only to some.”

Miryam decided to have some pity on him as he squirmed around the child on her return to the kitchen, bringing the conversation back on track. “So, we need to talk to that lawyer, what was his name again?” She tapped a few keys, searching for the information. “Here it is - Philip Mortensen.” Turning the laptop around to face her brother. “Make yourself useful – call this guy and tell him we’ll be in his office within the hour. I’m going to take a shower and get dressed.”

“Oh please, not on our account.” Lucifer replied, returning the eyebrow waggle.

“Really? We’re about to go into battle and you’re hitting on me?”

“What can I say? I’m the Devil.” He ducked her slap at the general direction of the back of his head.

“You’re something.” She muttered as she missed. “I’m just not going to say what.” The bathroom door slammed shut, leaving the group to nibble on the breakfast pastries. Even Trixie happily noshed on the sweet breads, making Chloe mentally apologize to the child’s teacher for what she was sure would be a very energetic day. Dan’s arrival didn’t help matters much. He walked into the house unannounced and found himself looking down the barrel of Andre’s reflexively drawn Glock. “Hey!”

“Good morning, Detective Douche.” Lucifer crowed from the sofa. “Would you like some coffee? …Oh, and…have you been introduced to my nephew Andre?” He indicated the sufficiently unconvinced and armed Andre, “This is Detective Douche. Detective Douche, my nephew Andre.” He laughed as Dan warily took in the face of the man now contritely holstering his weapon behind his back under his shirt. Chloe quickly inserted herself into the standoff, glaring at Lucifer’s introduction.

“Hello?” Andre ventured along with his hand, looking back at the Devil quizzically. “So – that isn’t really his name, right?” Dan pumped his hand, his first impressions of this new Lucifer look-a-like made and not in the best light. “No, it’s not. Dan, actually. _**Detective**_ Dan Espinoza, LAPD Homicide Division.”

“My ex-husband.” Chloe added for Andre’s benefit, “He was at the original crime scene when we found Max Leblanc’s body.” For Dan, who was already feeling put off, “Andre is helping with the investigation.”

“Uh-huh.” He jutted his chin at Andre’s torso, for the gun he had plaster to it on his belt, “You got a license to carry that? Better yet, let’s see some ID.”

“Whoa, man, c’mon…I’m sorry I pulled on you, but let’s not start off on that foot. Okay?”

“Then show me some ID—you’re in my house, with my wife and child, I think—“

“Excuse me, but you _**don’t**_ live here.” Lucifer interjected archly, enjoying the man’s rising discomfort, and therefore masculine need to reassert himself. “If you did, I wouldn’t make it a point to visit so often.”

“Lucifer, I swear to God…!”

“Will you please stop doing that! He’s not going to help you, least of all you, when two of His own are already on the premises. Honestly…!”

Chloe launched in, hands flying to her hips, reasserting _ **herself,**_ “Actually, this is my mother’s house. So really, both of you,” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at Dan and Lucifer, ‘And you,” she rounded to Andre, who wisely backed off, hands slightly raised in a ‘no-offense’ gesture, “Can either shut up, or leave.”

Miriam stepped out of the bathroom then, her long hair hanging damply down her back, tugging at it with a pearl-handled brush. She had chosen black pants and a dark crimson shirt, a color she was fond of, with a silver crucifix around her neck. A leather tie hung from one hand. “Next!” she called, tossing the towel to Draco. He caught it midflight, closing the door behind her. “Who started World War Three out here?”

Dan gaped at the new arrival a moment, before going after Chloe, “Okay, so we really need to talk. What the _**hell**_ is going on here? What are you running, a boarding house?! Chloe, I mean, this is ridiculous! Do you even know anything about them? They’re friends of Lucifer’s, for G—!”

“Don’t say it.” Lucifer dared.

Miryam, however, was coolly levelheaded as she approached the arguing couple and smoothly took Dan’s hand in her own introduction. “Inspector Miryam Sealgair, INTERPOL. Andre is my brother and consultant.” She flourished a card from nowhere, presenting it to him between two fingers, “A direct line to my superior, if you wish to confer credentials. Lucifer is more my cousin…than uncle, but it really doesn’t matter. I can assure you, sir,” She said, ripping Dan’s argument to pieces without even lifting a hand, “Your family is no safer than with me and mine.”

Eviscerated, Dan back off the motor-mouthing accelerator and conceded with a curt nod. “I’m sorry, didn’t mean anything by it…it’s just not every day I walk into this house and find it slightly more occupied than as usual…”

“Try knocking next time,” she replied offhandedly.

“She’s really a fair princess, Daddy!” Trixie piped up helpfully, cutting the leftover tension in half. Every one breathed a little easier. “Whatever you say, monkey.” Dan muttered, patting her head. “Out you go.”

“Bye Miry! Bye Andre! Bye Lucifer!” She waved energetically, her backpack as tall as she was on her back; even managed to grab a quick hug on Lucifer before running out. “How come I’m the only one she hugs!”

Dan paused for a moment, giving his ex a look that meant that would be talking more about this later, then returned his gaze to Miryam, who brushed her hair methodically while never straying in watching him. Lucifer and Andre quietly marveled at her ability to reign court without even being at court—An Ice Queen cometh…

“You mentioned INTERPOL. There was some guy with the same creds looking for you at the precinct yesterday. Said his name was Angelous. Is he ‘family’ too?”

“Dark hair, dark eyes, intense?”

“Yeah…”

Andre scoffed. Miryam spoke for them both, “He is.”

“Huh. Makes sense.” Dan shut the door on Andre’s fuming and Miryam’s pert grin, “He has balls, Detective.” She said silkily, “I’ll give him that.”

“Goddamnit, Gabriel…!” Andre crushed his empty coffee cup in his fist. “He better not come around me…Miry, I swear he better not…”

“If he does show up again, I will deal with him – not you. And that is the last discussion I’m going to have with you on the subject. Understood?” She glared at her brother, daring him to protest.

“Whatever…”

Chloe took a pastry for herself, still mulling the confrontation. Miryam made it a point to reach over for her hand, “No worries. I’m sorry we may have caused problems for you.”

 “No, you didn’t. That’s just Dan…”

Lucifer gave Andre his spot on the sofa to approach himself, “Might I say how lovely you look emasculating a man. Really quite radiant.”

She tutted, focusing now on her hair, which was giving more knotty trouble than her brush could handle. He lightly lifted the comb from her grasp, “Allow me.” He sat her on a stool and directed her to relax and hold still. Chloe watched this little ritual with great interest—more sides to this exasperating man than she previously figured on… He ran the brush through the thick hair, gently teasing the tangles apart with practiced hands, separating several handfuls into segments. Within a few minutes he’d expertly braided and tied her hair up and out of her face, his long fingers caressing as he tucked a few stray strands behind her ear. “There – now you look like you’re ready for the day—Your Highness.”

Chloe was impressed, “Care to do mine sometime?”

“Why, Detective…If I had known that’s all I had to do to get in your boudoir…”

Miryam smacked him on the chest. Then more sweetly, “Thank you, O Prince of Darkness. I appreciate your kindness.” She kissed his cheek with great pomp and then laughed when she rubbed her lipstick from his skin. Andre whistled admiringly. “Indeed, well done, uncle. Good thing her mentor isn’t around to see you do that, though. We might be picking your head up from under the sofa.”

“Not his problem anymore, is it?” Miryam asked as she slipped form the stool, “And that was rhetorical by the way…and don’t you two have places to be?

With their marching orders, Andre was to return to Lux to set up their command post, complete with tech they’d bought or even refitted for their needs, so Miryam could be in near constant contact with her Euro sources. “Beside,” His grin was wolfish, “I’d like to get to know Maze better.”

“Not without me you don’t!” Lucifer was genuinely aghast. “Someone has to protect you two from each other.” He grabbed the younger man by the shirt to pull him towards the door. “We’ll talk to you all later. Do have fun talking to the attorneys.” With that, he unceremoniously shoved his young friend out.

Chloe laughed. “Well, that’s one way to get him out of my house!”

* * *

 

**_At the law offices of Boyd, Boyd, and Lange…_ **

Uriel fidgeted in the passenger seat of this oversized tank Damien called a Chevy Suburban. He never did well in the physical realms. Severe cultural and genus whiplash scuttled his senses until he reached a sort of equilibrium where he was able to withstand. He hadn’t reached that point yet. Sincerely hadn’t a clue how Michael and Gabriel could stay such extended periods down here. Mortal clothing was the worse—especially these jeans and jersey soft t-shirt Damien supplied him this visit.

“If you’re so uncomfortable, Uri, why’d you insist on coming down?” Damien said from the driver’s seat, a $1000 pair of Zeiss Conquest HD tactical binoculars in his lap. He was congruously the spitting image of his angelic mentor: incredibly blond, blue eyed, handsome, and extremely well built. The oldest duo in the Triad, they were arguably the most closely matched emotionally than the other two sets of mentor and student; they just didn’t show as effusively as their counterparts. Damien would die for Uriel and Uriel for Damien. That’s all they needed to know.

“I told you: the situation now dictates my involvement.”

His charge chuckled, “Uri-speak for you just wanting to see me.” In truth he knew as much about the developing situation as Uriel did. He raised the glasses for a long hard survey of the Beaux-Arts style office building across the street from them—the tinted windows of the SUV, just shy of illegal, made it impossible to see in, and therefore, his snooping, especially with the copious amounts of sun on this particular day. The smooth stone of the façade, once a pearl white now a dirty snow color from years of smog and weather wearing, sported the typical garland and carved decorations of its architectural class.

The screaming face of a creature perilously reminiscent of an angel above the first floor joints disturbed Uriel further. Even if he hadn’t known the occupants of the office were no better than the clients they catered to, he wouldn’t trust them as far he could see just for that, and he had excellent infinity bending vision…“Don’t be cheeky.” He chastised. “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you get to rub it in…”

They shared knowing grins.

“…So we’re spying on Miry, now, huh?” Damien muttered a minute later, still all eyes on the law firm. “You know, I do have other business to attend to—I need to hold court pretty soon. Is this going to be a long-term thing or until she finishes this case?”

Uriel fidgeted more, watching the pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk beside him for any untoward characters… “I rather can’t say. Depends on Michael’s next move…and Gabriel’s.”

“Is Michael really losing it?” Damien lowered the field glasses, sounding worried for the first time. Uriel sighed, shrugging, “I don’t know that either. We haven’t been exactly close since Vega. When Father briefly placed me in the field as a catalyst for both sides, I think Michael found His choice startling---and hurtful. He never saw me as the type to play both sides for personal gain…evidently Father did.” Uriel slumped in his seat, quieting, “That still stings…” He finished, morbidly dejected.

Damien knew his mentor’s pain well…and he despised not being able to help. Uriel was ever the strong stoic one, content to stick to his studies and dissertations; convey the Wisdom of the Father to those who sought his counsel. He was part scientist part artist part perpetual student—though he was built and trained for war, he was no soldier. He hadn’t the temperament for it. Damien would never say this to his face, but he loved him for that more than anything he was really indebted to the angel for.

He gave his pseudo brother a good-natured backhanded whack on the gut, “Hey, c’mon. What I always tell you? I’m glad your Father didn’t do worse to you…and you should be too.”

Truth be told, the very thought of Uriel bloodied, injured, dead, or dying made Damien sick, and kept him up nights during Uriel’s part in that ghastly little play. Again, it would take a moment of pure weakness to openly admit that, and since neither were apt to show weakness, it went comfortably unspoken.

“Easier said than believed, Damien. That survivor’s guilt…it’s not just a human affliction, especially for one who has walked this earth since its Creation.”

“You shouldn’t feel guilty, Uri…for not being sent to a charnel house-turned-reality. What—you want to be a shell of your former self too?” Damien huffed, returning to his watch, “I wouldn’t stand for it…”

Uriel appraised his charge fondly, spirits lifting as only Damien could make them. “My young pup turned guard dog, eh?”

The human twisted a demure grin under the glasses. “Don’t know what you mean, Uri…” He replied with a marginally straight face.

A black unmarked LAPD Crown Victoria cruiser with light bars in the front and back windows pulled in across the street almost a full block down from the law firm. Damien checked their parking in his side mirror, binoculars half-raised to his face. “Hey, think this is them.” Uriel twisted in his seat to see, leaning over Damien in earnest. Miryam’s unmistakably lanky figure climbing forth, ever the stunning beauty, confirmed. The pretty female detective they knew her to be partnered with—the same Lucifer was attached at the hip to—climbed from the driver’s set, unconsciously taking in the surroundings as Miryam did. Uriel knew then why his brother’s charge had chosen this human to fight alongside—she was a warrior at heart too.

“What do you want to do?” Damien glanced quickly to the angel, “Meet them?”

“…Well,” he stretched, feeling cramped, “Would cut down on the spying factor.”

“Better do it now then; if we’re going to be watching for duration, I’d rather have them go in first.”

Both exited the SUV, eyes on their targets. Damien surreptitiously settled his own t-shirt over the bulge of his back holster. Uriel never carried, simply for the fact that, while he didn’t cherish the idea, he was a living weapon; as deadly as the other archangels at defending and fighting with bare hands as not.

He did remain glued to Damien’s side, his golden shadow. They crossed the street, jogging between traffic, waiting for Miryam to spot them. Uriel assured him that Metatron’s indictments on Michael and Gabriel hadn’t reached Miryam’s ears, and there was no reason for her to believe they would be watching or following her for safety’s sake. Their visit would be a warmly inspired surprise for their little girl who’d been under pressure as of late with a case whose actors and events gave her nightmares…

She didn’t take long. They were the tallest and broadest of the masses walking the street, blond and buff, shirts bulging around the arms and chests; she instantly radiated glee when she recognized them. Abandoning any facsimile of grace and poise, Miryam squealed and ran straight for Damien. He braced for impact as she parted the crowds, leaping into his arms. Laughing, picked her up around the waist for a twirl. She was feather weight in his arms, smelling of coffee and chocolate. “Damien!”

“Hello to you too, little one.”

“What are you doing here?!”

He put her down so she could give the same treatment to Uriel. Their public display of affection drew some glances.

“Just some business…”

“Huh.” She snugly fit in between them, wrapping her arms around their waists as they walked on, suspicious. “Fancy your business and my business coinciding so well.”

“Yes, fancy that.” Uriel did his best to sound unaffected, but the girl was dubious. “It’s a lucky thing I was missing you so badly, or I might think this was a joint effort of espionage.”

“Espionage?” Now the angel was appalled. “Miryam, my child, you know better than that.”

She cracked up, nudging Damien in the side, “He’s trying awfully hard, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Giving his mentor a quick finger across the throat, signaling ‘shut up.’ “Isn’t he?”

They returned to the Detective, fielding her bemused expression. Both recognized Miryam’s relishing the other woman’s quick once over of the men at her sides—she never let an opportunity to remind them of their ‘irresistibility’ pass by, unfortunately… “I see you’ve noticed my friends, Detective.”

“Kind of hard not to.”

Damien and Uriel shifted at her sides, acquiescently flustered.

Miryam hugged Damien around his middle, “This tall drink of water is my eldest brother, Damien Dragón.” She switched to Uriel, “And this handsome devil is his best friend, Uriel. Guys, this is Detective Chloe Decker. She’s working this case with me.”

Since both were well aware of who she was, they did—carefully so this time —feign ignorance and graciously accepted the introduction. Damien had the lead, as he often did, taking her hand in a firm authoritative grip, “Detective.” Miryam tsked at his gravelly voice, “C’mon, Damien, for once drop the Lord of the Manor routine? I’m sorry, Chloe, don’t mind him.”

Uriel offered Chloe his hand in turn, echoing the apology, “If he doesn’t talk to you at all, you know you’re in trouble—trust me. Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

While the Detective was quite taken with the two, at least as much as Lucifer intrigued her, especially when all the men around Miryam were seemingly connected and even spoke in similar tones, they had a job to do. “Likewise. Uhm, Miryam and I have business with the Boyd, Boyd, and Lange firm, there, actually. Time sensitive.”

Uriel was eager to bounce, have them leave first so the women wouldn’t see their return to the Suburban. “Right! Absolutely. We didn’t mean to keep you. Damien and I should be going too.” For Miryam, he had a kiss for her temple. “See you later?”

He gave the girl kudos; she was wise, at least to the fact they were here for more than just ‘business’. “You can count on it. We have things to discuss—meet me for coffee later?”

They agreed, staying behind long enough to watch the two enter the offices safely. Hightailing it back to the SUV, they settled into their surveillance. Damien had to know, however, as he raised his binoculars to his face, “How much are you going to tell her?”

Uriel was subdued, unhappy to be the Messenger this go around, “Whatever she wants to know—I have a feeling her issue is Gabriel. On that end, it’s for her safety as much as her peace of mind she knows what happened—all of it.”


	20. Pt. 20 - Lawyers, angels, and murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References season 2 of Dominion

On the twentieth floor, Philip Mortensen’s secretary looked at both Chloe’s and Miryam’s badges with a sniff. As a secretary in one of the most expensive and influential law firms in L.A. she was accustomed to dealing with clientele who were the wealthy elite. This person in front of her didn’t impress her as such, looking over Chloe’s off the rack pants and blouse with disdain. Instead aimed her responses at Miryam, taking the other woman’s expensive clothing at face value. “Mr. Mortensen will be right with you.”, indicating a set of uncomfortable looking chairs. “Have a seat.”

Both recognized the brush off when they got one, and Miryam especially wasn't having any of it. “ _Merde_ ” She growled, sounding very much like her bodyguard. “This is not happening.” She tilted her head, listening closely, than moved quickly to the office door. “Coming?” she sang out for Chloe, ignoring the outraged protests from the secretary. Inside, all three women stopped short at the _**empty**_ office.

“So where is he?”

Mortensen’s secretary was insistent: “He couldn’t have left without my seeing him!” 

Miryam inspected the floors and furniture intently. “His briefcase is still here. Couldn't have gone far.”

“Think he’s trying to avoid us?” Chloe asked, planted in the doorway just in case their wayward lawyer showed up.

“Possible.” Miryam admitted, bumsrushing the secretary out of the way to inspect the desk herself,  looking for something obvious to tell her where the man had gone. Nothing seemed disturbed, the desk top neat as a pin. It reminded Miryam of her office in Geneva – a place for everything and everything in its place. “I didn’t talk to him. Andre made the appointment. But he’s usually pretty good about picking up tells in people’s voices. If he thought there was something not quite right, he would have…” she looked up as a shadow crossed her faced, and turned the desk phone around to punch a few buttons, looking to see what was the last number that called their missing lawyer. The list showed an internal number had called his direct office number nearly half an hour before they arrived, while she and Chloe were still the road. She shot a glance at the now frantic secretary. “Did you ever leave your desk since you started the day? Even for a few minutes?”

Under direct questioning, the woman was a deer in the headlights, “Just to get some coffee. I wasn’t away from the desk for more than a few minutes. The coffee maker is just around the corner so …”

Miryam dismissed her explanation with a wave. “Go to your desk and stay there." She motioned Chloe to follow as she padded down the hall looking at each door, seeing nothing to trigger a warming. At least not until they arrived at what looked like a storage room. At the slightly ajar entrance she stopped, eyes narrowing. “Why do I smell blood?”

Chloe shimmied past her partner, flipping on the lights and peered into the small room. Boxes of cleaning supplies, papers, and rags were stacked on racks along the walls. An old busted copier stood in the center of the room. In the corner, there was  a pile of cleaning rags with what appeared to be a stain around it. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she gasped. There was an arm sticking out of the pile of rags, clothed in dark material. “Is that…?”

Miryam walked carefully over to the pile, taking a broom from behind the copier and lifting the first layer to reveal the pale face of the Philip Mortensen, the lawyer they had come to interview. “Bloody wonderful” She huffed, "Someone didn’t want us to talk to him. I wonder what it was he knew?”

“I’ll call it in." Chloe said briskly, pulling her cell phone.

“Yeah, do that." Miryam reached down and touched the victim’s arm. “He’s still warm – this didn’t happen long ago. Our unsub may still be around here.” She pulled back her jacket and unclipped her holster.

“How did you know?” Chloe asked.

“I didn’t. But the fact he wasn’t in his office, and he hasn’t been on the phone harassing us for information about his client’s death, was enough make me curious. Seems my curiosity was well founded.”

“Suicide?”

“Doubtful. We’ll see as soon as your Coroner has a chance at the body.” Miryam looked around their crime scene with a pensive frown. “Stand guard at the door, we need to make sure no one else comes in and disturbs the scene.” She pulled out her phone and took a few quick shots of the room and the body. “Just in case. Things have been way too strange lately. Wouldn’t put it past someone to “misplace” evidence.”

“You think this had something to do with Leblanc’s death?” 

“Probably." Miryam poked around the rags covering the dead lawyer’s body. “We need to get into his files and contact. See who he’s been dealing with lately, if he’s had contact with anyone we can connect to the cartel responsible for the trafficking ring.” She swiped quickly through her contact list and made a quick call. “Andre? Do you have my network up and running? Good – because that lawyer I had you call this morning is lying dead in a storage room on the twentieth floor of his office building.” She held the phone slightly away from her ear as her brother swore loudly. “That was just so incredibly helpful, thank you. Listen to me. LISTEN! I need you to start down the rabbit hole and find out who was might have been staying in Leblanc’s house. See if he hired a body guard, or an estate manager – something like that. Someone who would have reason to be living in that house with Leblanc. Get some of our geeks on the money trail. I’ll catch up with you soon. Damien’s in town and I need to get with him to see if Tris found anything out before I pulled him off the chase. See you soon.”

“Why kill him and leave him here where he would be discovered?” Chloe continued her ruminations, “That makes no sense.”

“Maybe he was meant as a warning to someone in the firm?" Miryam looked up another number in her contact list. “Or someone knew we were coming to talk to him and figured he wouldn’t be able to keep something pertinent from leaking out. No idea what that might be but… Hold that thought.” She waited a moment. “Hey big brother – need to move up our coffee date. Can you meet me in thirty minutes? Bring Uri if you want. Your call on favorite private clubs, and arrange a private room for us. Text me the address when you've decided. See you in a bit.” She slid her phone back into her pocket with a sigh. “I need to talk to my brother. Hate to leave you alone with this but…”

Chloe peeked out of the door. “Uniforms are here – they must have been nearby. Go ahead and meet with your brother. I’ll handle this.”

Miryam smiled her thanks. “I owe you one.”

* * *

 

_**Back at Lux...** _

“Damn it!” Andre snarled, hurling his cell phone across the office, a string of curses in multiple languages behind it.

“What’s happened?” Lucifer asked, suddenly stern. Anything that would upset this normally laid-back young fighter had to be bad and with Detective Decker not nearby, Lucifer feared the worst.

Andre grabbed a keyboard and started working on his sister’s requests. “You know that lawyer Miry and your friend were supposed to talk to? Someone got to him first. We have another body.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he's the one the Leblanc family hired to intercept us at the murder scene: Philip Mortensen. Which, if you think about it, makes no sense. The dude hasn’t been working for the firm – much less the family – long enough to be a liability. And to leave the body right down from the main door to the law firm’s offices?”

“Sounds like someone is making a point." Maze came into the club office with a set of glasses and a new bottle of scotch. She handed one glass to Andre and sat down to watch the multiple monitors he'd set up, fascinated by the amount of information streaming onto the screen. This new system had possibilities.

“Wouldn't put it past these people," Andre admitted. “But aimed at who? Us? The police? Someone else? “He stared at the computers intently. He'd spent the entire morning re-wiring Lux’s office computer, putting in a new system, upgrading its access to the internet and loading anti-virus software to keep the trolls out of his network. His access to the dark net was now faster than it had been in Geneva. Now, he was spreading the word through Miryam’s contacts, geeks, hackers, and programmers, hidden behind their anonymous identities and able to crack into any system worth cracking: anywhere and at the drop of a hat for the “Dark Lady” – INTERPOL’s most social media savvy investigator.

“How would they know your sister was going to talk to him today?” Lucifer ambled over to his desk and peeked at the screen, instantly bored by the flow of information he saw on-screen.

“It wouldn’t have mattered who found him just so long as the message got sent.” Andre keyed another command and leaned back, reaching for his drink. Maze poured him another shot and took a seat behind him, watching the programs he had spread across three monitors work. “Miry will be here to discuss this with us in a while. She’s talking to our brother Damien first.”

“Damien – and his mentor Uriel?” Lucifer wanted to poke at the subject a bit. “I thought you three and your angelic mentors were not on speaking terms?” Uriel, unlike the other archangels, was not a source of discomfort for Lucifer. The scholarly angel wasn’t likely to start a fight if he could help it.

Andre shrugged, unconcerned. “Damien said he would break with Uriel – but that really never was going to happen. Those two have been together forever. Not even loving Miry more than his life could make Damien let go of his relationship with your younger brother. They're more twins than Uriel and his real twin Rafael. Miry knew and she was okay with it. He really didn’t have much to do with that whole Vega issue so he was marginally more acceptable than Da…Gabriel and Michael. Plus his twin Rafael and Miry had always been buddies so… guess it was easier for her to ignore Uri being in Damien’s realm than it was to ignore the others.”

“You know,” Lucifer drawled, sliding down his chair and propping his feet up on the desk, “I’ve never quite been sure how you all ended up with your respective mentors. You and Gabriel I know, but Uriel and Damien have always been a mystery to me. An even bigger mystery is what Dear Dad was thinking when he put Michael and Miry together. I mean, really – those two are just not the most intuitive of pairings.”

Andre grinned. “Even funnier if you know that when he first approached her to tell her she was part of the Triad, she hit him with a pool cue.”

Lucifer choked on his drink, sitting straight up in his chair. “She _**what?"**_

Andre happily filled in the details,“Uriel was already attached to Damien by that time; had been since our brother was just a kid. Damien had a good father who understood the mixture of angelic and magic blood in his son so there was no need for a father figure. Uriel ended up being Damien’s “imaginary” friend – only not so imaginary. It was Uriel who first noticed Michael’s name tattooed on Miry’s face shortly after she reached puberty, and the one who told Michael.”

“I’ll bet that was a hell of a conversation.” Maze commented, her eyes still on the monitors, a small smile on her face. All this technology could be _**so**_  entertaining if she leveraged it correctly. And she suspected she could get Lucifer’s new friend to help her if she put it to him correctly. She licked her lips at the thought.

“That wasn’t the half of it.” Andre snickered. “Your little brother wasn’t sure Uriel had actually found the third Triad member, so he decided to show up in all his obnoxious glory. He had not, however, counted on her “flight or fight” reflexes. The portal forms, startling my sister, and as he starts to step through she whirls around and _**whack!,**_ right in the ribs with a pool cue. Damien says you could hear him cursing all through the house. Worse yet – she blamed him for his getting hit. Said if he hadn’t startled her she wouldn’t have hit him.” Andre poured himself another drink, grinning “Damien said Uriel was laughing so hard he almost slid down the wall.”

Lucifer could just picture the usually staid Michael the Archangel, losing his cool over a bit of girl. “I’ll bet little brother hates that story.”

“He does!” Andre agreed readily, giving his monitors a quick check. “And that only encourages Damien or Uriel to tell the story as much as they can, better if Michael's there...which, he usually isn't..." He reached out and sent another command down the line, waiting for response.

Maze watched, fascinated. “Are we launching something, or just searching for access to electronic information?”

Andre smiled, "Probably both--one of her geeks will find what we need , we just have to wait.”

* * *

 

**_The Hollywood Men Escort Club  
_ **

**_Wilcox Ave, LA..._ **

A long-legged hostess with the name placard "RoseLee", took charge of Miryam, directing her to her party. Damien's choice of meeting place was his tastes to a tee: a monthly due based private gentlemen’s club, frequented by the white collared and famous. Tactful, discreet, and only the most beautiful and thoroughly background checked escorts for companionship and conversation. _Wonder if he told Uri what type of club this was **before** he brought him here?,_ she thought, amused. Uriel, for all his age and experience, was not as worldly as his friend, unless it was in a book. This would not have been the type of place he normally would have suggested, more Lucifer’s style.

Uriel was the gentler half to her boisterous elder brother, the brain to his brawn, a pairing that suited them both. Miryam suspected her older brother had decided on this venue to tease his mentor. _He really likes to watch Uri blush. S_ o did she. Uriel, like his friend, was especially easy on the eyes.

“Miry!" Damien’s voice floated over the heads of the lunch crowd. Clientele and escort alike looked up to stare. Damien’s golden good looks turned heads wherever he went, even moreso here, haloed in cigar smoke at the bar . He waved to her, beckoning to join them. She strolled through the lunch crowd, their eyes following this well dressed woman. 

“You had to choose a strip club for coffee?” she asked, laughing, standing on her toes to kiss her elder brother’s cheek.

“Escorts, love, watch your language. And they have good coffee. Besides, I figured Uri should see how the other half lives." He grinned, pulling her into the private room he had arranged for. Inside, Uriel was trying to fit his big frame into the smallest space available, looking wilted. Several of the servers had come back to the private room to offer drinks to the handsome, if uncomfortable, man, trying to draw him out. Only once Uriel anchored somewhere in protest, he didn't budge . 

“Why, exactly, couldn’t we just have coffee back at your house?” He complained, sullen. He loved this boy, but sometimes his idea of a joke fell flat with his angelic friend.

“Because," Damien replied, suddenly solemn. “Your brothers aren’t likely to look for either of us here.”

“And we’re hiding from his brothers why exactly?” Miryam asked, suspicious. She slid onto the couch beside Uriel, snuggling up to him as her elder brother stood parade rest in front of the door. He gave a stiff nod to the angel, their signal. Miryam felt the arm she hugged tense. Uriel covered the petite hand on his bicep, looking down at her head with pronounced regret.

“There is something you need to know about Gabriel and Michael.” He began gently. “Though you...probably suspected it: something happened in Vega."

“I knew it!” she exclaimed, "I knew Metatron hadn’t told me everything. How bad is it?”

“Bad” Uriel replied, sounding strained. With the strangle hold Miryam had up to his shoulder, he strove to be her comfort, “Have you seen either of them?”

“Gabriel's come around, probably looking to get back to Andre through me.” She shrugged weakly,  “I don’t know what they quarreled about and frankly don’t care. I’m inclined to lock them both in a room and lose the key until they work it out.” She gave the question extra thought, in light of how Gabriel reacted the last they met. “He’s acting… overly concerned for my safety. Nervous – like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he let’s me out of his sight.”

“Considering the people we were up against with the trafficking case, I’m not sure I don’t agree with him.” Damien muttered. “But in this case, Sissy” using the nickname he’d gifted her with when she first came into his house, “He might have a reason to be afraid.”

“What do you mean?” Miryam looked between the two, tensing as Uriel did.

“We’re losing our immortality. Haven’t you noticed it? We aren’t healing as quickly, more prone to illness and exhaustion. When did it start?”

“After I returned from Vega with Metatron’s report” She whispered, horrified. “Oh Lord, Damien, is this happening because of my quarrel with Michael?”

“No – at least not all of it." Uriel protested quickly. “Something happened to both of them in Vega, something that substantially damaged their souls. Gabriel, from what I’ve heard, was exposed to a torture no angel could survive. He took the contents of the Fifth Amphorae, the Void, into himself.”

“I remember you showing me something about this thing. The Darkness of the Fifth Amphorae was the Void the Son of Morning dispelled in the beginning, but contained, it grew upon itself in outrage of its caging. Unleashed, it preyed on worst fears, caging the victim within them.” Miry looked from her brother to his mentor for support.

“Correct. Gabriel lives only by our Father’s grace and his own strength, but the Void lives inside him still; one tipping point's worth of pressure the wrong way and..." He shifted, unwilling to finish the thought, because he knew exactly what would happen. " While that should have been enough trial to satisfy Father, Michael, too, was subjected to incredible loss: his Chosen One, Alex Lannon, was stolen from him. Everything he fought so hard in Vega to protect: simply vanished. He sees Gabriel trying to get closer to you and fears he will lose you as he did Alex. Once they thought and felt as one soul. Now they are at odds with one another once more...and it's not a simulated divergence--this is real, and doubly dangerous. Michael’s paranoia is pushing him towards war with his brother, and I fear for Gabriel, and for all of us, this time.”

Miryam took in the deluge, nuzzling into the hard curve of Uriel's shoulder for a pillow as she tried to come to terms. Uriel kissed the top of her head, "I'm sorry...Miry," He shook his head forlornly,  "Believe me, it's hard enough for us to understand this madness..."

“Tell her the rest." Damien encouraged, towering over his sister like a protective bear.

"There's more?" She nearly squeaked, the sound muffled by Damien's now-damp tee shirt sleeve. 

“I'm afraid there is." The angel huddled closer to Miryam, giving her as much as himself to latch on to as she would need; he was about to waylay the poor thing. "Metatron fears that if the brothers do not reconnect with each other, and with their students, that Father will break this Triad, and start again with three new beings.” Uriel looked up at his friend possessively. “I for one believe Father would not do that. I won't-- you and your siblings have been ever faithful to His will. He would not--."

“He did it to Lucifer," Her mouth moved on the jersey soft material she breathed into, her breath as hot as he words, “Why would I believe he wouldn’t do that to us?”

Uriel pulled her from his side, holding her away, strong-armed, and uncharacterstically riled, "“Miry--!”

“I believe the Messenger is broken, his brother is losing his mind, and the violence from Vega is bleeding into this world because of them! And to top it all off, there is a group of wealthy, indulgent, psychos who think they can buy and sell people for their pleasure, who are out there, outside of the reach of the law, and have now killed three people! They will debase and destroy who knows how many more innocents if I don’t stop them. If your Father has abandoned me, then he can’t complain about the methods I use to deal with these monsters and send them to Lucifer’s kingdom!”

Any adoring light she had for Damien and the angel holding her eclisped. She fought off Uriel's grip and shoved past her elder brother. She coldly regarded them from the door. Uriel half raised out of his seat, reaching for her, his other hand at Damien's elbow.

“Tell your Father from the Dark Lady that if he wants a new ruler in Hell, wait a while. I’ll be happy to oblige Him after I’ve dealt with these animals. But tell Him He might not like what He gets. Lucifer's the Beast but I can, and will be far, far worse. If He wants to destroy my family, He’d better be prepared for the Hell on Earth I will unleash.” She stalked out, leaving both to stare after her in dismay.

“She wouldn’t!” Uriel moved to follow. Damien held him back.

"Don't. Let her go."

"Blast it, Damien, I knew this was going to go bad--I'm no Messenger!" He roughly ruffled his hair. "She can't mean what she said," He stated gravely. "She can't."

“I fear she would.” Damien replied, sharing his gravity. “Lucifer may have more influence on my sister than we knew. This is not good, Uri, this is not good..."


	21. Part 21 - Breaking ties

_**The Hollywood Men Escort Club** _  
_**Wilcox Avenue, LA**_

_**11:00am...** _

Miryam pushed and shoved the way out, eyes burning, throat constricted. Her rough flight from the club drew just as many glances as her arrival. The steely nerved attitude she'd put upon Uriel and Damien was collapsing--the Ice Queen losing her cool. And all that would be left of her was a strangled plea for help that would never see the light of day because the words for it would never materialize--she was strong, but not that strong. And the strength needed to cry help, Uriel took from her when he said he was sorry the madness didn't make sense to him either.

There was never a day she wasn't faithful to the duties bestowed on her. Though personal vendettas sidewinder some of her path, she’d done what God desired of His Chosen Guardians.

Yet He gave her and her brothers up the very instant they weren't worth the power He handed down; when He saw His chosen ones were as fallible as his sons in times of extreme crisis. He cherished His human children but not their humanity, or their human nature that was no more perfect than His angel's. She wanted to scream, the double standard bottled up inside her.

She broke from the club, blindly searching for Draco and the Bentley. Somehow, it was expected Damien and Uriel would be right behind her, pleading to be her shoulder to cry on, to help her understand it wasn't any one thing she had done. It was Vega's cumulative malice breaking through, just as she said.

But they didn't follow her, and that put a pang of contrition in her heart. Neither deserved her ire. What Damien had Uriel do in telling her the truth was only for her own good. Having the knowledge of impending doom hanging over her head should force her to be logical and forward thinking; instead she was feeling caged and cornered. Never cage a tigress on her hunt to protect loved ones. That's what this amounted to, and caged animals had no other logical thought but to get free and stay free.

So why weren't they battering down this cage to save her?

She found Draco, the last of her dwindling friends and soldiers, and his double-parked Bentley, and ran to him.

The old Dragon had gone a scouting mission to the original crime scene, hoping that if he dropped the veil which kept his human façade in place, his dragon’s senses could tell him more about who had been at the house. From the look on his face, it had not been as profitable a move as she had hoped. Regaining composure was far more important at the moment.

When her sniffling and muffled sighs settled along with her forehead against the window pane, Draco spoke up, “You and the firebird having words?” He accompanied the question with a quick glance into the rear view mirror. Miryam’s face was puffy and tinged pink, yet stonily closed off. Not like his lady at all.

“No, not with Damien.” She muttered, futilely watching the cityscape go by, playing with the crucifix at her throat, its chain tugged absently, “It seems we are to fight a war on multiple fronts this time.”

“Multiple fronts?” Draco sustained his glance, “What does that mean?”

Miryam shrugged hopelessly, “The All-Father has a problem with his sons. Torturing them in Vega wasn’t enough. Now He’s put our immortality on the line: if either we or the archangels don’t jump the right way, the Triad will be no more.” Her lean became a flopping back on the plush leather seat, searching the headliner for solutions, her mind whirling with possibilities. She slowly enumerated the task at hand she could control: “The problem is how to wind down this mission before we lose our immortality all together.”

Draco reacted with disdainful indignation, gripping the wheel angrily. “You and your brothers have done nothing to warrant this punishment!”

She sighed, wiping raw eyelids of nonexistent tears. “You’re wrong, my old friend. My quarrel with Michael… that was all He needed to push this situation in the wrong direction.”

Gabriel’s name stuck in her throat as she thought of the torture a father could allow his son just doing a duty, a dirty one too, without pleasure and just pain. Her heart went out to him, knowing he was nearby, watching her, “Gabriel is… damaged… by separation from his child and from the torture of the mission his Father sent him on.”

“What of Michael?” Draco saw the name’s flinching effect on her drawn features.

“Michael is worse. He and Gabriel are…estranged, for real this time, and it’s breaking them. Harder still, his Chosen One in Vega was stolen away. With our disagreement on top of that, he’s not coping. …Uriel is no soldier, and I can’t expect Damien to put his guardian in the line of fire and risk his existence for a battle not of his own making. Rafael, while a better fighter, is more needed as a healer than a berserker. So… if push comes to shove, the only one I have to count on other than you is…”

“The Prince of Hell” growled Draco.

* * *

 Gabriel waited for the Bentley to yield into traffic. He dropped the veil of the ether, shaking his hair to hang over one eye. He smiled mirthlessly at the gilded wood construct of the establishment before him. Didn’t take much to know what this was, fancy signage or not. He flexed his shoulders with cocky surety, pulling his long coat’s hood over his head for cover. His peculiar mode of fashion, quintessential of higher angels in the Vega reality, and one of the many idiosyncrasies of that universe he couldn’t shake, drew prolonged and furrowed looks as he swept through the club’s congregation. Leather long coats, slouchy ankle boots, knitted mesh hoodie, thin undershirt, and sword belt in the LA heat, and in this neighborhood, did not do well.

Used to causing a fuss, Gabriel carried on, the hostess raised demands for his reservation time and name coolly met with a drawled, “I believe my party isn’t expecting me.”

Men and women, escorts, and clients alike, made way for him. That was normally accompanied by blades and guns coming out from every nook and shaky hand to take his head off. He rather liked the change; the collective draw of breath, and the hungry gazes gobbling up his path. It was nice to be appreciated.

The manager was not so obliging, and fell on his heels, the thin pipsqueak squawking inconsequential threats of trespassing and calling the police.

Damien and Uriel were on their way out of their private room when Gabriel intercepted. The manager went to grab Gabriel’s shoulder to stop him. Upon seeing a catastrophe in the making if the human did touch Gabriel, Uriel froze in place, whipping his arm out for Damien. His face fell in tragic awe at his brother’s gravitas flooding the club floor. “Hold it! He’s… my brother.”

Since Damien was the card-carrying member, and using guest +1 privileges for Uriel and then Miryam, the manager looked to him for confirmation. Damien concurred, “It’s fine. He’s family. Put him under my guest list.”

"'Gabriel'." the angel himself supplied.

“Mr. Dragón,” The manager nodded curtly, eyeing Gabriel mistrustfully. The interested crowd dissipated with all the ruckus over. The three returned to the private room, Gabriel the last one in, shutting—and locking—the door behind them. He lowered his hood, chuckling sardonically at the way Uriel was backing into Damien, putting a heavy black marble table between them and Gabriel. “Don’t worry, brother. I don’t want him. It’s you.” He raised his arms in consideration for the masculine opulence of the suite, the silkily leather couch, the big gaudy table still separating them, the dark lacquered hardwood under foot, the crystal decanters of brandy and whiskey, and their snifters neatly organized at the dry bar. “Now this is civilization—they dress it up, put another name on it…but it’s still a whore house. “

Damien refused to retreat any further, bumping chest to Uriel’s back in an effort to get around him, “Kind of like you. Dress you up as Archangel, put Messenger on your back, but you’re just a whipping post for a Father that stopped giving a damn. Forget him, Uriel. He’s nuts, remember?”

“Ohh!” Gabriel laughed anew, his cheeks widening in a brilliantly false smile, “Huh. That’s rich. Let’s talk about that, shall we?”

He took hold of the table corner and effortlessly wrenched it from its moorings with an impressive groan, clearing the path to Uriel. Damien drew and cocked his Glock, aiming over his mentor’s shoulder at Gabriel’s forehead, a firm grip from behind on t-shirt keeping his angel planted. “One more move.”

Gabriel curled just outside their reach, shaking his head, “Well well, Uri. You trained yourself a soldier. Look at him! Who knew. What, Damien?” He baited. “You’re going to shoot me? Now? With all the dirty business of Father giving us up, you’re going to kill the one Archangel who stands to fix this? Bravo.” His slow clap infuriated Damien, and that was the purpose; rile the young buck. See what he was made of.

“Go home, Gabriel.” said Damien, aim true and steady, “You’ve done enough.”

“No, see, I disagree. You two,” said Gabriel in slow deliberation “Did it all far more miserably than I could.”

“Gabriel, I think you should heed Damien.” His brother spoke up, trying to be the mediator. Caught between Damien who would shoot Gabriel to protect him and Gabriel who could do far more impressive feats of strength and power than tearing a table from the floor, he had to be the even keeled one.

“Oh you two are pathetic!” Gabriel spat, a brutal twist in his features screwing his whole face in a sneer. “You think Father will spare Damien, Uriel? You think he’ll take Miryam and Andre but leave your Firebird alive?!”

Uriel stiffened, a motion Damien felt through his grip. “I don’t believe He could kill any of them. Miryam may…you do…Michael does too, but I don’t. What He can do is turn His back on us all, and that’s what threatening our children is meant to do.” He covered Damien’s hand to lower his aim. “So it’s on us…to save them and return Father’s favor. The first step in any problem is admitting there is one.”

“To me you did, in strict confidence, yet the moment I turn my back to help, you run to Damien and spill your guts to Miryam?” His hand fell to the pommel of the blade at his hip. Damien’s aim redoubled, along with his handful of Uriel’s shirt, baring his teeth in warning.

“I can easily make your treason your end, Uri. Never forget: I’m crazy.”

“I won’t. You want to gut me, I don’t suppose I could stop you without turning this into an all-out brawl.”

Damien snorted, “Speak for yourself: he’s not laying a finger on you.”

“The important thing is Miryam now knows you are unpredictable and dangerous and so is Michael. That’s what she’s up against if she’s to survive.”

Gabriel’s features set in an animalistic snarl, “What did you tell her?”

“Everything.”

“Vega?”

“I had to. It began there. It should have ended there. It hasn’t, and so she must know.”

Gabriel’s penetrating dark eyes brightened, “The Void?”

“Gabriel…” Uriel’s heartfelt tone, awashed in the gentility of the Light, reached out to the Messenger as he did in a step forward, aware that Damien’s hold on his shirt had minutely lessened. The unnatural glow in the Messenger’s gaze crackled, blazing forth under a feral growl. He snatched his brother by the throat and whipped the bigger angel around, watching him bounce off the wall behind them. He fell upon him, leaving deep finger gouges and his brother struggling to breathe. Damien’s cool fractured, pressing the Glock’s muzzle to the base of Gabriel’s neck, done watching. “I will shoot you! Let him go!”

“So shoot me.” Gabriel snapped, boring down on Uriel. “I don’t give a damn. You two made sure I couldn’t.”

“Dam-ien!” Uriel managed, prying vice grip fingers one by one to speak, “Sis alright…don’t shoot.”

“He’s hurt everyone else, and it was all forgiven. He’s not hurting you. _ **Let him go!**_ ”

“Damien, don’t shoot!”

“Go ahead, Damien.” said Gabriel, squeezing harder, listening to his brother gasp and now smack uselessly at the hands throttling him. “Your bullets are no doubt Empyrean Steel—it’ll go through me and hit Uriel. Your best shot, Firebird.”

Damien snarled, indenting flesh with the muzzle break. He pressed a searing look of imploring at Uriel. His angel shook his head in agreement. The Firebird relented, retreating a marked two steps back, visibly dissenting with the idea. Gabriel grinned, “Now, let us discuss the meaning of full disclosure.”

Uriel suddenly relented too, from pacifist to brawler. His wings ripped from his back, surprising the other two. He slammed Gabriel with wing tips, skewering him in the ribs and prying him off with crushing power. Damien ducked to avoid collision as the angel took out the wet bar. Tremendous crashing and shattering of crystal soaked Gabriel head to toe in alcohol.

Frantic pounding on the locked door signaled the manager was back for the commotion. “Mr. Dragón! Mr. Dragón, is everything all right? I must insist, sir!”

Damien swore, hustling to the door to give a quick all clear while he kept the slowly shifting Gabriel covered. “Uh, yeah! We’re fine. Thanks. Give us another few minutes?”  
Uriel panted, slumping on the wall as he gathered himself, wings still poised as clamps, the appendages raised parallel to his arms. Damien crept over to him, hastily pulling at his friend’s t-shirt collar to examine the brush burns and bruising left behind. “Damn it, he did a number on you. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” replied Uriel testily, more intent on Gabriel’s slow grasp of his predicament.

A low chuckle built from his brother, who ran a hand through limp hair; licked that hand and face with a discerning tongue, bleakly taking in the crystal carnage littering him and the floor,“ Bloody hell, water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink…”

“You’re a bully, Gabriel! I always thought Michael was the worst, you’re just cruel.”

“And you’re not a man of your word, Damien.” He countered, almost slurring. “You made big talk of protecting your archangel—“ He dragged himself to his feet, wiping at the amber cascade down his long coat, glass glittering. “---but when it comes right down to it…” he loped closer to the human, who hunkered down in front of Uriel, an unmovable barrier. Uriel’s wings wrapped around his charge in a returned gesture of protection.

Gabriel showed his eyeteeth at the camaraderie, “Heh…when it comes right down to it,” he repeated laboriously, his accent coating the words in elegant wrathfulness, “Neither one of you will be able to stop the storm coming. And I know a thing or two about storms. I was born in one, baptized in another, and live one every day. …Did you tell Miryam that?”

Gabriel cross stepped to the door, shaking his hood out as he pulled it over his head. Content Damien was sufficiently mellowed with his angel’s wings wrapped around him, he turned his back on them. His parting shot went over the shoulder, “I don’t care if you two continue on here, but if Vega taught you anything, Uriel, it’s to pick your side and just stay out of my way. You’ve done one well, now do the other the same and save yourself. My last mercy.”

* * *

_**At Lux…** _

_**11:30am** _

Leaving Draco to park the Bentley, and escape his overly mindful gaze now that he knew the uneven score of their time here, Miryam strolled into the closed club, looking over the empty space thoughtfully. “I wonder…”

“You wonder what?” Lucifer walked out of the gloom, drink in hand. Since the fine print of human nature and emotion was his bread and butter, he immediately caught the tangled web she was dragging behind her. Whatever the Firebird had to say rattled the girl, but she was game, not letting it overwhelm her. At least not to the point where she couldn’t negotiate. By the way she sized up his arrival, and then walked a catwalk saunter to the bar for him, Miryam was indeed in the mood to chew the fat and make a pact. He smiled warmly as she slid her arm through his, pressed against him.

“I was wondering about you and me, Prince of Hell” she replied, coy. “We’ve had quite the relationship over the years, haven’t we? Sometimes I’ve hated you for how you chose to deal with mankind, while you’ve sometimes hated me for the actions I took against you. Yet, most of time was spent making sport out of our interactions; one-up each other, not hurt anyone else.” She giggled, bumping her head on his arm, murmuring, “Like that time in Louisiana. Or when I tracked your escaped souls in San Francisco.”  
He relished this act of hers, hoping she was at last warming up to her old hellcat ways. Without Michael to ground her, literally and figuratively, she put the Lilim to shame. Lucifer appropriately bristled at the mention of San Francisco, as it was expected of him in this game, “Let’s not talk about that little incident, shall we?”

She giggled again, just a little girl teasing her big bad cousin, “But it was fun! At least for me it was….” She removed herself from the full on lean at Lucifer’s side and reached across him to finish the dregs of his drink. It was scotch. And she hated scotch. But it burned well enough, and since her self-annihilation tendencies were apparently on the rise, drinking fire at the Prince of Hell’s side seemed appropriate. “But in the end, Lucifer, I keep coming back to the fact that you’ve never lied to me.”

“I don’t lie.”

“I know you don’t. What I mean is…you’ve always been straight with me. And you would think,” she added ruefully, “If there was one integral trait your Father would have kept from you to the Archangels, it would be honesty.”

“You would be wrong, of course.” It was his turn to bump her arm familiarly, drawing that increasingly doomed-and-gloomed frown she was masking to the forefront, “Now be honest with me.”

She blinked hard at the empty class in front of her, “There have been complications. Vega has damaged your brothers more than I—or we---could have imagined. Gabriel, I can handle but Michael…may be a different animal all together.” She quickly filled him in on what Uriel and Damien had told her, watching his face as she mentioned the Void. As Lucifer had originally contained it in the Beginning, she was interested to see what his reaction would be to its release.

It was remarkably nonexplosive. Just jaded acceptance his Father would fuck things up worse than he ever could, given the chance. Lucifer walked around the bar to flourish a bottle of Knob Creek whiskey and an extra glass. His darkly tightlipped muttering rumbled under breath as he poured, “Bloody hell – what was the Old Man thinking when he allowed that? All the blasted effort and time. Do you know how hard it was to get that witch into that tiny Amphora?” He swirled his glass, shaking his head. His anxiety to Gabriel being the new carrier encroached on his annoyance, and he slugged a sip in honor of the sacrifice. “Gabriel, huh? Hell…” he breathed, ducking his head. “He should be dead. I should be dead. And He’s going to kill you all if it’s not tied up in a neat bow and ribbons by the time He says jump!” His next scoff scraped his throat, “Damned if I know this game. It’s not one I would play…”

Miryam took a shot to Gabriel as well, grimacing at this slippery lava slide down her throat. “Never have figured out what you guys see in this stuff.”

“It’s the burn.” Lucifer poured them both another shot. “…How bad is he?”

She demurely smiled at his lasting concern for Gabriel, sensing begrudging respect sparking somewhere in there, “I don’t know. He’s over protective of me –something he’s never been before - and seems to be edgier than I remember. It’s obvious something is wrong but I can’t tell if it’s the Void...or Vega…or both. Andre would be the better judge if he was still speaking to his father, but right now I can’t trust my twin’s objectivity.” At a loss to adequately describe the jumbled, and now queasy, mass in her stomach, She simply admitted, “I feel like I’m between a rock and a hard place. These murders just reinforce there was something we didn’t completely clean up behind the trafficking. I had suspicions there was an organization behind the traffickers, especially when we pulled in clients who were either associated with, or part of, some of the oldest and wealthiest families in Eastern Europe – families I’d suspected of being part of several criminal enterprises. If I’m right, they’re now trying to clean up after themselves, eliminating anything that can lead back to them even if it means killing one of their own.” She gave up on drinking to find clarity in this ball of threads, knowing once she started down that path she wouldn’t stop until the bottle was empty. Unlike her brother she didn’t have what it took to drink and keep it together. Andre was a funny drunk – she was an angry one. Not even the Devil deserved to have to deal with her when she was in that frame of mind.

“Crime and paranoid angels – what a lovely combination. Cheers.” Lucifer toasted her, “Are you sure you can handle Gabriel? Especially knowing that he’s been exposed to the Void?”

“At this point, I’m not even sure your Father hasn’t got some other idiotic plan up his sleeve. I told Damien and Uriel that if your Father has abandoned me then he can’t complain about my methods in dealing with the human monsters.” She was sheepish, an adorable emotion on her, if Lucifer might say so himself, “I may have also told Uriel to tell your Father that if this is all about him wanting a new ruler in Hell, then I’d be happy to oblige him after I’ve dealt with these animals. But to also tell him he might not like what he gets.” She shrugged. “Sorry – I’m not really angling for your job but…”

From repentant to unrepentant in two seconds flat, he was impressed. Lucifer smiled trickily, tickled by this change in the girl’s games, all the while wary the Old Man could be angling exactly for that. Or something similar. Co-rule was out of the question because the throne was no longer in his hands. That his Father would uncork the Darkness for the Messenger of His Word, reflexively dulling his Sword at the same time with trial and madness, and then break the Triad too for good measure, meant cleaning house to Lucifer. And a clean house only made more room for new mess. And a new balance in the universe. No, he didn’t like it, didn’t like Father toppling his Princes left and right without giving the rules to the game of succession and victory. And a game without rules with chaos, chaos Lucifer couldn’t control—and never before had Father given away anything so fundamental, so easily.

_Your gamble, Dad. The stakes are too high, but I wonder what you would do if I tried to match and raise them? What would you do if I solved your riddle…and beat you at your own twisted game? What if…what if it was Knight takes Queen? Ha. Checkmate, Pops. You lose._

Lucifer showed teeth in his smarmy, triumphant grin, making that easy decision and sidling up close to Miryam, “Ah ha. You little devil. You’re finally tired of being used as pawn in the Old Sadist’s games! Good for you! About time. Now if we can convince your twin to feel the same way…”

_Quite a coup that would be, eh?_

“Convince me of what?” Andre returned to the bar, in search of Lucifer, finding the sight of his normally teetotaler sister sharing a drink with their infernal uncle to be a little much in the way of bad news. “Oh shit. What did Damien have to say?”

“Nothing good. And I told Uriel to tell his Father essentially where to stick it” Miryam shrugged. “Guess I’m feeling a little abandoned by Him right now. So…what did you find out about who might have been in Leblanc’s house when he died?”

As if the Old Man saw right through Lucifer’s king—or queen—making and decided to bust him down a peg, as He usually did, time petered out to a sluggish halt. Portal light, fractals bowing indecently cheerfully, opened in the middle of the club floor. “You know, isn’t there some immigration limits somewhere up there?” Lucifer yelled to the ceiling, “Bloody should be—one angel at a time, bi-millennial, if you please!” The passenger disembarked, of decidedly higher angelic ilk by the look of their size and clothing.  
Amenadiel had not expected or even liked seeing two of the Triad sitting on either side of his elder brother, both giving him the look of enemy and not the Fallen beside them. He shuddered. Things were out of balance. All the more reason to get this over with.

“Lucifer, we must speak.”

Miryam cocked an eyebrow at the new arrival. “Now there’s a sight you don’t see often. Why do you use portal? …Or aren’t you even supposed to be down here?”

Andre gave a low whistle, adjoining his sister. “Dude, did you get the license of the truck than ran you over?” He looked at the bruises visible on the dark-skinned angel’s face and the stiff way he held his arm. “You know, I’m betting Raffi could do something about those ribs. Why don’t you go back on up and ask him nicely.”

Amenadiel ground his teeth in annoyance. It wasn’t enough that Gabriel lost his mind and used him as a punching bag, but to have his “child” make light of it was almost too much to bear. He considered his words carefully, however, out of deference to Michael’s student, “My lady, if you and your brother would excuse us, I need to speak to my elder brother.”

Miryam feigned delicacy, batting her eyes in feminine shock, “Oh dear. So formal. This conversation wouldn’t happen to be about someone missing from Hell…would it?” Her act dropped, replaced with a hard smile and equally hard eyes boring into the guilty angel, “You’re lucky Gabriel didn’t kill you.”

Amenadiel's spine stiffened in regal standing, wordlessly denying nor accepting any thing or part, but he was caught, and he cursed her perceptivity. Now Lucifer caught on, dragging a stone quarry glare to Amenadiel, the corner of his mouth twitching as he inquired coldly, “Something I should know about, brother?”

Like dangling catnip in front of a cat. Miryam smiled sweetly at the victory and oozed from her place at the bar, all legs and sex, willfully unsettling Amenadiel as she passed. “Draco is parking the Bentley. Think I’ll go see what’s taking him so long.” She crooked a nail at Andre, who stood spell bound by the simpering his sister was putting down. The hell did Damien tell her?! “You go back to the computers. We’ll talk about what you found after this is done.” Her fragrantly blown kiss to Lucifer peaked the Devil’s smile, heat and ice clashing in his gaze.

Miryam was pleased with the interest stoked, and only stopped her sauntering retreat long enough to make sure her brother returned to his duties, then continued out the door. Part two of her act was about to commence…

Lucifer returned full attention to Amendiael, icy cold dashing fire. “So,” he put to him, “we were about to speak of escaped souls and whipped angels…weren’t we?”

 

* * *

 Draco knew he would be missed, but nearly running down an Archangel as one parks one’s Bentley in a tight alley space tended to hold things up.

“Old One, you shouldn’t be here!”

Gabriel lowered his hood, exceedingly worse for wear. Draco pulled up short in his march toward the being, “Dear Father, you reek. Are you drunk?”

“I took a bath, believe it or not. Does wonders for one’s constitution…”

“Is that a joke, or--.”

“How is Miryam?”

Draco sobered. The Messenger cutting to the chase in a situation he grouped into duties was not unusual. His insistence in doing so was. “Messenger, you are not well. If the Firebird and your brother the Light insisted you go home, I believe you should heed them.”

The angel waved him off, “They painted a picture they had no right to. Don’t mind what they say. Am I not Father’s Word?”

Draco dared a bold truth, “…In this case, no, Gabriel. You are not.”

“How is Miryam? How did she react?”

“How do you think? She cried…shut down emotionally…and she stopped thinking. For you, Gabriel, and I suspect Michael, as well, damn him.”

Gabriel, looking off from Draco, took on the visage of lost child, “Can I fix this? Will she talk to me?”

“Not right now,” counseled Draco, sympathetic to the pain he sensed from the angel. “When Miryam is cornered, she does as she’s trained. She fights back. But unthinking as she is…I fear what she does now is not prudent.”

Gabriel visibly took his meaning, and shot a terrified, angry, look at Lux’s wall. He went to charge past Draco, clearly intent on busting through to get at her, “Lucifer?!”

“There’s no one left!” Draco held him up, struggling with him, “The Firebird will protect his angel at all costs. You are in no condition. Michael brings devastation to us all, and Rafael will have no part, as he did with Vega. Andre will be with her, I will be with her, but what’s three against the wrath of the Father!”

Gabriel gave up, sagging unnaturally defeated in Draco’s arms. He pulled away from the embrace, hand out in front of him to keep the Dragon at bay, “She’s not alone. If that’s what Uriel painted, then he’s a liar! I’M still here.” He pounded his chest in emphasis. “If she has no love for Michael left…that she would go to Lucifer, then perhaps it is my turn in this.”

“But she won’t see you, or talk to you! Let alone fight alongside you.”

“Then she will die!” Gabriel’s voice rang out in the alley.

Draco approached the angel cautiously, reaching out to him as Uriel had done, except now the Angel skittishly held ground, eyeing the extended hand “No, she won’t. I have no pride left, Old One. My word stands. I will call you should the need arise.”

Gabriel considered his handshake another moment, and accepted. “If that’s all I can hope for…”

Suddenly, he snapped his gaze over Draco’s shoulder, separating from him with feverish intent, “Miryam!”

Draco turned, saw his Lady watching their meeting, raw, disappointed betrayal written all over her. “Draco…” she whispered. The Old Dragon took it in stride, “He only cares for your safety, my Lady. I told him your wishes…but his seem reasonable too.”

“I only want to talk to you.” Gabriel approached her as skittishly as he’d handled Draco’s handshake. “Miryam, please.”

He was struck by the vibrancy her emotions lent to her features. As he got closer, he was more and more captivated by a beauty he’d never considered before. Dressed as she was, far less conservatively than Michael ever allowed, he was hallowed by the realization she was no longer their little girl. She was as strong and beautiful as the women of Vega he so despised; a Claire Reisen transplant, Lady of more than just a city.

“Miryam…” his voice echoed around the name, magical and fresh. Whatever power he still held over her worked, and the hard shell sealed with firmly crossed arms broke. She ran for him, tears streaming; caught snugly in strong arms. He squeezed his eyes shut as her eyelashes tickled the soft flesh of his neck. “I had to see you.”

She half-sobbed half laughed, muffled, “You smell like a bar. What have you been doing, going on a tear without me or something?”

He found a wry grin to give her as she pulled away, hands little fist on his shirt. “I had words with two certain parties…”

She searched his face and eyes, cupping a scruffy worn cheek tenderly. He turned into the gesture. “Why didn’t you tell me yourself?”

“How could I? I couldn’t even stand myself.”

“But I love you, Gabriel. Isn’t that enough?”

He laughed brusquely, “Noble, but no. But now that you do know…”

Miryam hugged his neck, nuzzling her head under his chin, “Now that I do know…I have decisions I must make.”

He thought she meant the punishment put forth by his Father and he eagerly pressed her to his body, intent on keeping her there, safe…out of reach for the worst that was coming for her. “You’re not alone. If you dare believe Uriel for one moment, that you could go to Lucifer—Miry, I’m here for you. If I can do anything right and worthwhile, protecting you and Andre is it.”

She sighed, pulling away again, this time putting space between them, just an outstretched hand over his heart to hold him. “I know…whatever evil you live with now because of Vega, you’re still the patient Heart you always were. His heart. And it’s a good heart. But that’s not going to help me.”

He was bewildered by the apologetic goodbye he heard in that statement. He pressed her hand into his chest, heart pounding under it; he hoped she felt its rapid beat, “What are you saying, Miryam?”

“Gabe, there has been another murder linked to my case.”

He immediately thought back to the other victim, the child, and he’s not too proud either, willing her to abandon a case—her dedication--- that will tether her to this realm and make his Father’s actions easier to direct, “Then get out, Miryam. Run from this. Go back to the Sidhe and take Andre with you! Michael can’t reach you there and neither can my Father. It’ll give me time to fix--!”

“Gabe,” She stopped him, allowing herself to be reeled in for a softer gentler hold. She kissed his throat, tasting sweat and a boozy musk, choking off the rest of his plea. “ I need you to go home. I can’t fight two fronts with the people I have. I can’t protect you and I can’t protect the mortals who are my primary responsibility. I’m not even sure I can fight one front right now, especially if your Father has turned his back on my brothers and I. Fighting these human monsters is hard enough without your Father’s grace but it will be far worse having to deal with this war between you and your brother.”

Gabriel lifted his eyes to the heavens, swallowing so hard his throat clicked. He’s never been able to hold her like this, as if it was just him and her, Michael far away, Father even farther. All that he missed, all that he could have had with her; he wanted it now. “I can stop Michael. I made that my life in Vega—I know what must be done. Miryam, please, let me protect you.” _Let me love you._

But already he knew a boundary was being set up, and she was trying not to break his heart, or hers. She remained in his arms, realizing the change in him...and slowly opening herself up to the chance; a dare...could she...with Gabriel? They quietly breathed each other’s exhales for several moments, sharing a heavy gaze quickly ripening under these new feelings, a mutually hopeful belief both wanted what each felt blossoming between them. She moved first to fill this gaze with meaning, kissing him lightly, a sign that made his heart leap. He met the kiss tentatively, leaving room for her to back out, while relishing the plastering of her hands to his stomach as they snaked under his shirt, scrunching long delicate fingers over the grooves and crevices of muscled skin she felt there. She pressed deeply into the kiss then, enjoying it as much as he was.

Then that boundary sprang up fully cemented, and Gabriel lost her again. The chill of the space she filled blanketed him, and he met her gaze from several feet away, her retreat slow and pointed. Draco bowed his head in regret but joined her side to make it clear he should remain where he was.

“I'm sorry...I need as few obstacles as possible between myself and the people responsible for these murders. And I may have to do things your Father won’t approve of to finish my case. If I do, then I don’t want you involved. The All-Father is on enough of a tear with his sons – you don’t need to give him any more ammunition. Please, Gabriel: Stay home, and keep yourself and your brothers safe. If your Father has abandoned us, then so be it. I’ll do what I must and pay for it later.”

Gabriel shuddered at the ultimatium. He held on to their electricity’s tingle, unmistakable in its meaning. “My brother may have given you up, but don’t confuse his motivations with mine.”

“I couldn’t do that, Gabe.  I love you more now than I did Michael when he left. Don’t make me hate you too. Respect me: Go home.”

She left him standing there, like a mortal hung out to dry. For a moment, anger that wasn’t wholly his, but of the Void, wanting to be freed, boomeranged through him, clenching his fists and mashing his face into pitiful fury. He tugged his hood back in place, shielding his hurt from the dank world outside, and respected Miryam as much as his pride allowed. The ether was closest he’d make for home until he could force her to respect him as much as he did her. That, at least, was still his prerogative.

* * *

 

  ** _Musso and Frank’s Grill_**  
**_6667 Hollywood Blvd_**  
**_Three Blocks Over from The Hollywood Men…_**

“Now this is where we should have gone for coffee in the first place.” said Uriel, inspecting the famous and iconic signage of Hollywood’s oldest restaurant. “You know how much I like it…”

Damien, looking wrung out for so early in the day, sighed, slamming the Suburban to ‘park’. “I know, sorry about that.”

“And stop saying you’re sorry. It’s the fifth time in twenty minutes you’ve repeated it.” Damien regarded his mentor, who was studiously ignoring the overwrought examination his charge was giving him, and reached over to pull down his collar once again. The bruised finger marks were fading, and the brush burn was already gone. Uriel wormed away, “Damien, I’m fine.” He insisted. “Dear Father, you think I’ve never been in a fight before.”

“I know you have.” Damien left his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “That’s why you avoid it so much now.”

Memories of his last big brawl with his brothers in the desert sands of Jericho many thousands of years ago gave his face a pitched look. The golden glow he usually sported dimmed and he was viscerally more than just the youngest angel in name at the moment. “I took my pound of flesh, as commanded. Why would I seek more?”

“They’re going to make you fight…Uri. You’ve chosen your side, and it’s against Gabriel, which is against Michael.”

“That’s where you and Gabe agree and where you’re wrong. I chose no side. I have no allegiances except to my family, which as a whole is under attack. Do you think I should have lied to her?”

“Of course not. You did the right thing.”

“Then what’s the use in fighting when I’ve already accomplished my task?”

Damien let his head loll on headrest, amazed Uriel could so damn foolish in some aspects and so wise in others, “Because your accomplishment can be undermined.”

“Miryam can bluster and bluff all she wants. I know the real her, the fighter who seeks justice. She won’t be undermined.”

Damien twisted in his seat, clamping down on his shoulder to bring him around for face to face, “Uri, Jericho was ages ago. So what if you had to beat the living hell out of Michael to teach him a lesson he wouldn’t learn? He failed a test, he deserved the punishment. You’re the one being punished now, mate! Your father is coming after you,” he enunciated, making it stick, “For no other reason than who your brothers are.” He licked his lips, taking more stock in the love he had but just couldn’t speak on, not even now, when losing Uriel was so imminent, “If you don’t want to fight,” he began, resigned to the fact Uriel wouldn’t, “Then stay with me. I have plenty of room at my place, plenty of weapons. We can ride this out together.”

Uriel twisted his mouth in a fond smile, cupping his charge’s neck and bringing his head forward to bump affectionately, “Would that I could, Damien. I would like to be with you…protect you as much as you deserve.” He scratched his nose dejectedly, “But I can’t. Because you are partially right—Father has painted a target on my back, and the closer I am to you, the more danger I put you in. It’s better if we separate. I trust in your abilities, ones,” he smiled teasingly, “I had less to do teaching than refining. You’re a born fighter, Damien. You will do well.”

“So…what? What about you?” Damien flushed with despondency, gripping Uriel more ardently than ever before, “You’re going back home?” he asked, incredulous.

“I am the Light.” He reminded gently, “Father’s Wisdom. What better place for my skills than the epicenter? I have to calm Father and Michael’s rages. If I can’t, then we are truly doomed, and it will be up to Miryam and you all to be the Chosen Ones He wanted you for, and turn the tide for us.”

“Uri, I—I don’t think you can. So close to Michael--!”

He patted his cheek, “As close as I need to be. Michael wouldn’t hurt me.” He grinned toothily, “You don’t get my kind of ass kicking every eon, you know.”

Damien stared at him, tracing the chiseled lines of his face and catching the amused brilliance of his gaze, and knew this was somehow goodbye for a long time. He scooped Uriel up in rib busting hug, finally showing how much he cared. “Then at least have lunch with me before you go.”

Uriel wordlessly agreed, cherishing a moment he himself knew wouldn’t come again—when? He couldn’t say. Home was a long way away, and this was war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The specific sites mentioned in this chapter exist - though maybe not as they are being used here .


	22. Chapter 22 - Revelations

Pt. 22

 _**Lux Bar…** _  
_**12:30pm** _

Lucifer watched Amenadiel squirm. One of the more satisfying aspects of their dynamic. At least he had the decency to look the whipped part.

“That is not why I am here.”

“Oh, but I’m making it why you’re here. Since I had the nerve to leave my post, brother, you should at least have the same to continue your duties. Before you give me your best hypocritical stare, recall what I’ve done in the name of Dad’s sick fantasies…and what you’ve had to do. You’ll find there’s a difference. So yes, Amenadiel, DAMN IT, do your duty. And if you can’t, bugger off.”

“It was a mistake—.“

“My brother Gabriel believed so, by the looks of you. I know this handiwork isn’t Michael’s—your nose is too brown for that… Since it sullies me and pristine record in gatekeeping just as much, go on then: Who, what, when, and where?”

“Lucifer, it’s unimportant--!”

“—Bullshit!”

“But there is war on the horizon!”

“So you think you can just say shove it and open the gates?! Because there’s war brewing? Oh, gah--! Amenadiel, you’re may be tool but you’re not that dull.”

The whipped looked became ill-mannered and defensive: “A war YOU have a place in, Lucifer! I did do my duty, to the best of my ability. With your refusal, you left me no choice!”

“Ah, and here’s the part where you blame me for your mistakes. I like this part: go on, tell me how I screwed you over.”

Amenadiel clenched his fists, “You wouldn’t listen. I have been fair, as fair as Father to you.”

“No…” Lucifer replied slowly, “Don’t think Father has been particularly fair, so choose your similes a bit more carefully next time. Now: who…what…when…and where.

Amenadiel blew air through his nose spitefully, “A detective in the Los Angeles Police Department, a co-worker of your Detective Chloe Decker, partnered with her husband. Malcolm Graham.”

Lucifer’s reaction brought Andre and Maze from the club office suite; Andre to haul Lucifer off his brother and Maze to keep them separated.

“Ho ho, uncle! Leave his head on, yeah? Tend to get more information if they can speak.”

“What’s going on here?” Maze looked between her boss and, well, fuckbuddy/lover?, she guessed would suffice? Except seeing him a marbled shade of black and blue upset her more than fuckbuddy status should allow for. “Did you beat him, Lucifer?”

“…nah-ope.” He exaggerated in his snarling, still fighting at Andre’s hold, “Didn’t get that far yet, give m’time…”

“The Messenger handed me a hand-written missive.” Amenadiel wiped at his bloody nose; all Lucifer got on him was a quick pop there.

“You damn idiot! You put a ticking time bomb near the Detective, and thought you’d get away with it?”

“I have!” Amenadiel shot back. “For some time. Gabriel smelled him upon his arrival at the police station—I had no idea Father would allow him out unfettered—he’s gone mad!”

“Ohh, just because the ‘gentle’ Word left your brains a slightly more porous shithole than it was before,” Lucifer said, “Doesn’t mean he’s mad; just a little more with the program. And what, do tell, were you planning to use this miscreant for? Kill me, was it?”

The angel had the nerve to smile, “And you gave me the idea.”

Lucifer narrowed his hawkish gaze to roiling pinpoints, a mental rolodex of sorts flipping through the last few months. A source pinged home, with luminous silverwhite wings attached. “Oh. …the auction…for my wings. When I told you I was mortal--.”

“And all I had to do was wait from some gangbanger punk to put a bullet in you,” Another wicked smile. “Straight to Hell you’d go.”

Lucifer lunged again; Andre hauled him back. “No worth it, uncle, not worth it.”

Maze turned on Amenadiel then, eyeing him up and down with an expression of noxious misjudgment, “That is not what we agreed to. At all!”

Andre had heard nasty whisperings that Lucifer was not the Devil…or even the Fallen Angel, he once was. For all his Grace, he was equally Fallen, farther and harder than any of his cohorts. That his Father still favored him above all others was testament to what was once beautiful and pure, that He let Lucifer hold on to his mighty wings in the Fall when all others lost theirs or were left with tattered leathery remains, and then did nothing as he sheared them off when he arrived in LA five years ago…meant God must have some hefty soft spot for the son who would be king. But that the soft spot was fading, more pressing matters forcing His hand, and Lucifer would again lose, ergo…the mortality, the loss of strength and vitality. Ugly rumors Andre could now attest to having no bearing.

Watching, feeling, his arms shaking as Lucifer’s shook, Maze cordially, docilely, intimately interact with his traitorous brother, Andre saw the Devil was still twice the Fallen Angel, and twice the Devil, he had been. Freed by the bondage of his wings and any duties therein, misplaced and manipulatively begotten as it was, to his petty-minded Old Man, Lucifer didn’t give a single fuck about anything but himself and those closest to him, as he once believed his father and brothers would do for him but didn’t. Betrayal was out of the question, the acidic burn too close to the surface, a couple million years’ fresh, give or take.

Right under his nose…he smelled it before, thought he’d straightened his precocious little she-witch out in terms of bedfellows…but yet here she was—

“—Here she is,” Lucifer threw at the back of her head, “My Mazikeen playing the floor. I thought we talked about bedding and beheading my brother, hmm? Or did that conversation slip your mind!”

Andre planted his feet and buckled down around his uncle’s shoulders, hugging tight, “Give it up, Lucifer, it’s done!”

“It is NOT done! Call him back, Amenadiel! Revoke whatever filthy promises you made and SET THIS RIGHT.”

Maze was apathetic on her heel turn to stare, “For yourself, Lucifer? Or for your pet.”

“You don’t speak of her. And you don’t speak to me, either. Get out, Maze.”

She laughed at him, a hellcat playing fast and loose with her nine lives, “I can’t,” she replied, blandly sardonic, “I’m stuck…here, on this useless piece of rock…with you…because you won’t set this right, and go home!”

“Again, blaming me for your shitty choices. Must be contagious.”

Miryam reappeared, taken aback by the melee just teetering on averted, and Amenadiel’s bloody nose. Lucifer had delivered, just as she suspected he would; his disgust with disloyalty was a playing card she knew was easily dealt and won on, every time. “Am I interrupting?”

Snappy wafts of ozone flooded in behind her; a telltale point of call if her flushed cheeks weren’t. Amenadiel stood taller, wrapping his injured arm resolutely against his battered ribs on her arrival, satisfied somehow by it. “If you want to talk about setting things right, I think the Lady here would know more.”

Miryam drew back, falsely solicitous, “Speak plainly, Amenadiel.”

“I will. Giving you this warning was my original purpose in coming today: Michael is watching your every move, Lady Miryam, yours…and everyone here. He’s not blind, nor shortsighted. You should do better than his brother, for company, under the circumstances.”

Andre unhanded Lucifer, riled himself, “Are you threatening my sister?!”

“Gently reminding her the situation is far from stable…and where her loyalties should lie.”

Lucifer turned from the sanctimonious bullshit, “I think I may be sick—you, telling her to remember where her loyalties lie?”

“I heard it, too.” Andre moved in on the angel, fists clenched; Maze moving aside, her loyalties not so defined, Miryam became mediator, holding him back. “As did I—It’s me he’s setting up, Andre. I’ll handle this.”

Facing Amenadiel, she was as crystal clear and cool as the waters of the Sidhe she ruled over. “I asked you to speak clearly. I have yet to hear you do so.”

“Do I have to?”

“It wasn’t an offer; I’m ordering you, Power. As a higher angel under the auspices of my mentor, the Archangel Michael, you are compelled to answer to me.”

Amenadiel showed his big pearly white smile, a rough chuckle rumbling from his chest, “You do that well, my Lady. The way you wave your hands and speak your piece and the masses fall in line.” He shook his head, “No, My Lady. I am not compelled. You’re no longer Michael’s. And he knows that. For your sake…and the sake of those close to you, I would reconsider.”

“That was a threat. You son of a bitch, that was another threat.”

“Shut up, Andre.” said Miryam, heart racing a different beat than it was when she’d returned, Gabriel’s kiss still buzzing on her lips. “That’s very plain, Amenadiel. Well done. You too speak well when you need to.”

“You will reconsider?”

Miryam mummed her lips, rolling them to a white line, strolling up to him and setting forward on the balls of her feet, lowering her voice and chin to peer up at him from under eyelashes, “ I hope you will reconsider your shoddy, unforgivable…despicable breach of duty, not only jeopardizing Lucifer’s position here, his life, and the life of an innocent human female and her family we are tasked to protect, but your asinine belief you may tell me what I can and cannot do, and whom I can see and cannot see. Not even my brothers have that freedom. If Michael wants to discuss it with me, let him come…but not his mouthpiece lackey. If you reconsider, I will too. ”

Lucifer practically beamed: she was absolutely fantastic, human or angel, she eviscerated them all. Simply beautiful…

Sufficiently sucker punched, Amenadiel took a measure step back, face burning. He felt Maze’s eyes on him too, another sock to the gut because he knew she was counting on him to roll the dice that would bring them home. His best toss hadn’t been enough.

“What I did, Lucifer, I will pay for.” He managed. “But it was in my course of my duties that I did this thing you all find ironically wrong. But tempting Archangel,” he shot a meaningful look to Miryam as the double entendre was spoken, “Is not a duty, it’s suicide. Take care, all of you, Michael is dangerous. All of Heaven knows, sees his descent into madness unhandled a sign that Father is on the brink of something big—bigger than Fall, or First War, or even Vega. I fear no mercy. And that, Lucifer, “he said, returning his gaze to his brother, “Should frighten even you.”

“It doesn’t, actually. Not as much as the thought that you could open the Gates so wantonly…and then think you’ll simply pay for it. Heh, brother, you’re going to burn for it. Michael or no Michael, Daddy’s hissy fit or no hissy fit—this is one power play I’m ahead of. You tell the Old Sword I said so, sound good?” Lucifer’s face instantly darkened with his last words of warning, “Fix this, Amenadiel. Put that soul back where he belongs—without alerting the Detective or her ex. And maybe Dad will forgive your transgressions…” His gaze slithered over to a stubbornly unaffected Mazikeen, her arms folded sharply across her leather corseted chest. For his part, Andre didn’t look completely put off that Maze had obviously or at least probably slept with the angel. He just glowered at Amenadiel until the angel conceded the floor and the victory and left bathed in portal light.

No one spoke or moved for several moments, blinking and staring at one another as more dangerous, mental chess pieces of secrets and ulterior motives moved about their shared board. Andre’s glower transferred to Miryam, “I won’t ask what he was getting at really, because I know, somehow, the word ‘tempting’ seemed to mean a little extra when he said it—I can read you pretty well, sis, so…don’t lie and say I was seeing things. Besides,” he turned for the office, “I haven’t lost my sense of smell.”

Miryam accepted his anger just as smoothly as she cut down the angel, relieved her brother could play unified front and defend her when it counted, not altogether unsure of she was undeserving of it, because she was just as confused (and exhilarated by) Gabriel’s new attentions as Lucifer was curious, and Andre was pissed.

Lucifer let Maze follow Andre back to the office. He finally noticed Draco, the old Dragon having come in behind Miryam at some point, and taken to the far end of the bar to watch and preside. The Dragon got the drift he was sending and followed their path. When they were alone, Lucifer sighed. “Now, I’m relatively well versed in the choices an angel can make with a human woman…Miry. 200 of our brothers gave hearty testimony to that…”

“Don’t, Lucifer.”

“All I was going to say is Gabe is making one that never ends well. Seems I’ve managed to corner that market myself and come out on top, pardon the phrase, but they can’t.”

“Actually, you don’t know what you’re saying. I went out there to call Gabriel to tell him to leave. To go home. That I can’t do what we have to do with him here.”

“Well, that’s what you were going to do. What did he do, hm? …I haven’t lost my sense of smell either.”

She went past him, “He’s gone, Lucifer. I don’t care what you or Amenadiel or Andre think, or smell. Just want to finish this.”

“Considering your luck, you need all the help you can get—Void or no Void, Gabriel is better than nothing.”

“He’s gone.” She repeated, sounding as if she was trying to get used to the idea. “It’s over and done with. Worry about yourself and the fact your own brother set a damned soul on your ass, but not Gabriel. Besides,” she dropped a strangely coquettish smile, “I have you, don’t I.”

Lucifer grinned as her perfumed wake washed over him into the office. Oh yes…definitely no longer Michael’s.

* * *

 

_**One Hour Later…** _

Amenadiel was screwed. More than screwed, cast out. He arrived in the usual meeting place when another wasn’t previously arranged. The LAPD’s parking garage, at Malcolm Graham’s police cruiser. He called to him, making it urgent. Of course, he wandered in almost twenty minutes after the fact, stuffing a cream filled doughnut in his mouth followed by a huge slug of coffee, a bag of three more swinging from his free hand. He swaggered over, mustache coated a shaving cream white on the edges and pointing at Amenadiel off his Styrofoam cut, ‘awww’ familiarly, “There he is—my man!”

“I called you twenty minutes ago.”

Graham shoved the remaining half in his mouth and muffled a ‘Yeah yeah,” chomping and swallowing hard twice. He wiped the excess from his lips with the back of his hand only to lick it off there. “Had to get these.” He shook his brown paper bag meaningfully, “Want one? Fuckin’ sinful.” His laugh was a loud honking at his own joke.

This human was several screws loose from a full set.

He sniffed and snorted, keeping his eyes glued to Amenadiel with ravenous intent, finishing his coffee and taking another doughnut, “So, uh, what’s up? Kinda figured we were, like, good, ya know? Showed you the gun right? Danny boy came through…got him in line.”

Amenadiel furrowed his brow, then shut his eyes against the sight standing before him, his mistake no more screaming obvious than now, as Malcolm squelched a huge first bite into white cream middle, “The plan has changed.”

The loud chewing continued as the insect considered the words, because the angel refused to open his eyes yet, instead he listened, “Changed.” The word was futilely spoken as a bland statement. Then a nervous release of chuckle, a loud sucking of frosting and creamy doughnut guts off fingers and face, and a repeated ‘Changed’, now as a question and a feverish one at that. “The fuck you mean, changed? We had a deal!”

The angel opened his eyes, instantly revolted by the sticky, puckered face gaping back at him, twitchy and raw with its confusion. Couldn’t exactly blame him: he was free of Hell’s grip solely by Amenadiel’s hand; and by the same hand he could return…

“Changed; unnecessary, inadvisable. That’s what I mean.”

“Gah!’ The human exclaimed, looking off from the angel with profound incredulity, “That’s not how deals and partnerships work, man. You promise something to a partner, you mean it!”

“You don’t follow what you preach, why should I?”

The human’s puckering twisted into sneering, and he exclaimed half of the Father’s name, spinning in place, “I can’t fucking believe this.”

“Believe it.”

“What about me?! Huh?! I’m not something you can—can make unnecessary and inadvisable!”

Amenadiel could control this part of the process, used to putting down bugs worse than this human represented, “Can’t I? I brought you back, Malcolm. And you’ll recall our condition that if you didn’t kill Lucifer, you were going back anyway.”

Graham was rigid, gaze running up and down the angel with the same hungry manic intent he did everything else, “’Cept I was going to kill him; pull that trigger, easy, one two three pop. And I’m still going to kill him.” He calmly dropped the bag with his last doughnut, and the empty Styrofoam cup, to draw his service weapon and aim it at the angel. Amenadiel merely raised an eyebrow, echoing a phrase his archangel, Michael, favored to use when faced with a gun: “Be a shame to lose that hand.”

Malcolm shook his head, licking his lips to wet them, eyes too bright, “Ain’t losing nothing—that’s what this is all about, Manny.”

“Just saying…the bullet always seems to do more damage to the shooter than to me.”

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s give it a shot, then, see how right you are. On your knees.”

Amenadiel sighed in long suffering dismay. Hell, he was screwed. His wings snapped free in a dizzy spin of time; he leaped from standing still to over the human, and hauled Malcolm up by his neck. “Looks like we’re taking a ride then.”

Ten minutes later he threw Malcolm down a long set of shoddy, crumbling stairs leading to any equally shoddy, crumbling basement of a similarly trashed house in a similarly trashed neighborhood, far enough away from Lucifer, which was the important part. It belonged to a low-level thug the angel considered recruiting to do Malcolm’s job for him before the detective became the obvious choice. Needless to say, the thug still served a purpose in giving up this crash pad—and made Hell a minute later. Satisfying.

“This was meant as a holding area of your partner, Detective Espinoza, should he become a bigger issue than he is. We can adapt that…”

Malcolm was a fighter, he gave him credit for that. Escaping Hell when he deserved no other fate but that, one had to be. Slamming him backfirst against the cellar’s center cement support beam, positioning him in an awkward crosslegged pose and wrenching his arms behind him, he anchored him to the pole with his own handcuffs. Stood back, considering the work. Would have to do.

“You son of a bitch!” Malcolm spat, saliva handing off his mustache and lips as he kicked out. “You can’t—you can’t—I have to live—that’s what you gave me!”

“And I was wrong to give it. Yes, I’m going to leave you here.”

“Well, if you’re hoping I’ll just die again, uh uh. Hell no—literally. I’ma get out of here. I’m gonna kill Lucifer Morningstar, and then I’m gonna kill you! You bastard motherfucker, YOU DID THIS!”

Amenadiel gave him a petrifying look of pity—another thing he picked up from Michael. A strange sense of peace, absent since Lucifer abandoned his Throne, settled over him as he sank to crisp squat before the human waste struggling against his cuffs, and the situation at hand. In truth, the conversation—confrontation?—at Lux beat down some definitive walls the angel always maintained: duty, honor, loyalty. In doing so, he saw some intensive soul searching was in order. He bared those results now, for no other reason than not having anyone else to say them to, not anymore. “You are entirely correct. I did. And then one of my higher brothers found out…his brother’s human charge found out, and then Lucifer found out. All of them,” he said with utter calmness, “Demanded I set this right. Soon, when it is clear Lucifer remains alive and well on this earth, my Father will see it too. Can you imagine…what failure looks like when your father is such as mine? The Almighty God? It’s unbearable…worse, inconceivable. If…if it was any other way, I would put you back, as I promised, should you have failed me. But as it is, we are all living on borrowed time.”

Malcolm was breathless, “Da fuck you talking about?”

“I give it…no more than a week,” He gauged with a quirk of his lips in the estimation, “Before Father brings forth The Judgement.”

“What?! Fuckin—you’re crazy, man. I thought I was gone!”

“Oh no.” replied Amenadiel, his big smile belaying the utter devastation of his words, thinking only of the mounting betrayals of trust and honor Gabriel and Michael were trading, both twisted by Vega, and what Father would do to end the imbalance His failed test wrought. “Father’s Hand will wipe this earth clean of the guilty and the damned. He’ll do my job for me. I know I will have to pay too,” He shrugged far too easily, looking off the human with deep pathos, “Perhaps I will Fall…or perhaps I will die…I don’t really know. If I kill you now, or completely disrupt the balance by forcing you back to hell now, that’s one more wrong on my conscious to be judged for. Just stealing a soul’s fate…I hope my Father could forgive that, in light of my duties, and my loyalty…” He shrugged again, minutely wondering if one could ask the question ‘Am I insane?’ if they were indeed mad, because that’s where he was at. “I was a good son. Always.”

He rose from the squat, staring down at the man, devoid of any emotion except for that strange peace. “If I am wrong, and Father allows this earth to continue on with his sons destroying it one maddeningly self-serving action at a time, perhaps I will come back for you, and do as I should. But not until then.” As a parting word of helpfulness, he offered, “I doubt I will have to: your human body fails after three days without water. I wish you that. Hell’s Gates will be waiting for you.”

Malcolm blinked up at him, shock beyond logical belief that this bullshit was really happening, “Fucking mean waiting for me? You’re not leaving me here to rot, you sick--! Fucking kinda angel are you?! YOU’RE NOT LEAVING ME TO DIE!”

“No,’ whispered Amenadiel as his freed his wings, “Just to your fate.”

Malcolm screamed after him.

* * *

 

**_Same time: 1:50pm…_ **

Dan Espinoza was screwed. More than screwed, panicking.

He had been at his desk, trying to keep his mind of the increasingly ingratiating presence Lucifer and his supposed family were pulling on Chloe…all the while knowing Malcolm Graham was waiting to potentially end the whole thing for him. But not in the way he could live with…especially with Chloe and Trixie so close. His gut said warn Lucifer, his heart said protect what little family he had left, but his head said Lucifer Morningstar was every bit the devil he said he was.

But did he deserve to die?

Did Dan himself deserve to continue on under the farcical façade of honest cop, when his partner was the worst breach in ethics the department had ever seen? He’d covered his ass from beginning to end…or what should have been his end, when he put that bullet in Graham at Palmetto to save Chloe. Dirty cops stick together; had to, in an atmosphere that was do or die, career wise (and even literally, when your ‘partner’ is as nuts as Graham). He did his tour of hell, ending with stealing a revolver from evidence lock-up for Graham’s dirty little deal. Now, his adhesive was quickly failing.

But it almost let go completely when he saw Malcolm cruise through the floor for the elevator’s, loaded up with coffee and donuts and winking perversely at him, mouthing ‘Duty Calls’. Dan whipped around in his seat to watch him go. He swallowed when the action drew some glances, calming himself with the notion that even Malcolm wasn’t nuts enough to take out Lucifer now, and in broad daylight—and certainly not with that family of his around. But still, something about Malcolm…and his perchance for twisted fantasy like killing Lucifer because he was the Devil…oh, it was worse than when they were tight and in on the take together…as far as Dan was concerned, he wished his partner had died way back at Palmetto. Because now Dan could say he knew true evil, and it was sickening—a sickness itself; he could feel it starting to infect him, and anyone Malcolm come in contact with.

Something had to be done.

Dan mustered up enough resolve to look his normal determined self, gathering his keys and cellphone as he made to follow his partner out. Once the bay doors closed behind him, and he pushed the B button, he rang Malcolm.

It went to voicemail. “Damn it.”

He next logged on to the Department’s Motor Vehicle Pool page with the encrypted smartphone to ping their cruiser’s GPS. Hadn’t left the garage. Dan sighed in relief. Then immediately tensed up with new apprehension. So where was Malcolm going? Or doing. Or talking to? He’d had enough donuts for two, but knowing his partner was never without some foodstuff either in his hand or mouth for longer than an hour these days, that was most likely all his.

Just to be safe, and maybe just because he was paranoid, he pinged Chloe’s GPS .It bounced back to him from 1104 N. Mission Road, the address of the County of Los Angeles Department of Medical-Coroner, probably waiting on her newest victim’s autopsy report. LAPD was at 100 West 1st Street. Even taking public transit for the 2.5 mile drive, Malcolm couldn’t have made it anywhere near Chloe in the time he’d been gone. That assuaged some of the worry.

But not enough—so maybe he was paranoid the loose cannon he foolishly let live was gonna spill his guts…maybe his guilt over ruining Chloe’s rise and standing in the Department by keeping his mouth shut and letting her take the brunt of her internal corruption case was getting to him. That Chloe would rather turn to Lucifer these days for help, rather than him, he couldn’t stand by and be the reason Lucifer died and Chloe got swept up in the aftermath, no matter how much he hated the guy and suspected his family.

The elevator stopped at the 1st floor to take on more passengers for the basement. He made a snap decision, and got off. Taking the stairs the rest of the way was a more stealthy, controlled entrance to the parking garage.

He had no idea if Malcolm was even here…however, if he wanted a clandestine meeting, hiding among the rows of vehicles was choice. Carefully pushing the bar on the emergency exit, he unhooked his holster strap, fielding a whisper of danger down his spine as he stepped out of the stairwell. Peering earnestly around, counting and cataloguing parked vehicles and any people who may be there. It was eerily quiet, unusual for early afternoon on a weekday.

His gut hunch paid off when he almost stepped in a dollop of a white creamy substance as he made the circle around the perimeter of the basement towards their shared cruiser. He knelt to take a fingertip sample of it, smelling it. Sugary sweet frosting.

“What about me?!” Malcolm’s raised voice from the very direction Dan was heading raised his hackles. He quietly rose and rushed the rest of the way a hunched fast-walk to a wide-bodied pillar. He crouched flush against it, angling just his neck for the best view. He was at Malcolm’s back, seeing clearly the target of his rising anger. The man was African-American, huge, at least 6’3”, and overly well built, his biceps rippling the fabric of his very uniquely styled suit. Dan instantly thought of Lucifer’s choices in men’s wear. The low lighting reflected off this man’s smoothly bald head. He was also oddly detached in his mannerism, beyond calm, and most aloofly imperious; Lucifer again entered Dan’s mind. He shook his head to clear his racing thoughts and to listen to what was transpiring now.

“…I brought you back, Malcom. And you’ll recall our condition that if you didn’t kill Lucifer, you were going back anyway.”

Dan paled at his words.

Malcolm noticeably unhinged at them as well, “’Cept I was going to kill him; pull that trigger, easy, one two three pop. And I’m still going to kill him.” His paper bag of doughnuts plopped to the ground, along with an empty Styrofoam cup. He watched Malcolm draw his weapon dead center on this mysterious stranger. Dan shifted, heart now racing as adrenaline hit and hit hard. Malcolm would shoot. He was going to shoot.

This was his chance, then. His hand fell to the butt of his Glock. He could say he came upon the scene as he was looking for his partner, and only to find said partner had this man at gunpoint; when he moved to shoot an unarmed innocent bystander, Dan had no choice. Taking stock of security cameras nearby, it would do as long as this man cooperated. If he could make a deal such as this, surely he would help Dan—together, they would blow Malcolm’s plot to kill Lucifer in the open.

Despite facing down a madman with a gun pointed at his head, the man was unchanged in his attitude, hands folded neatly before him, merely shrugging his bulky shoulders, which was a feat of startling grace for his size. “Be a shame to lose that hand.”

Malcolm visibly shook his head, a slow calculated shake, all that mania pent up in his wavering voice, “Ain’t losing nothing—that’s what this is all about, Manny.”

“Just saying…the bullet always seems to do more damage to the shooter than to me.”

“Oh yeah? Well, let’s give it a shot, then, see how right you are. On your knees.”

Dan drew his weapon, settling it in his grip. _Damn it, Malcolm, this isn’t how I wanna do it…but it’s either you, or me, my family, and my career…_

But his mental pep talk to take this unsanctioned shot was unnecessary.

And as Dan would learn, the least of his worries, concerns, or life hurdles. In fact, all of what Dan knew to be true and false in this world was about to be severely upended.  
The air around them physically felt harder to breathe, Dan’s lungs immediately starved, as this man let out a in long suffering sigh of dismay.

Honest as God was his witness, which would very evidently turn out to be real, or at least in the realm of possibility, Dan felt like he was caught up in a slow motion car wreck, unable to move, scream, or look away. Enormous jet black wings snapped free from the stranger’s shoulder blades, sweeping the length of a small plane’s. Feathers the shape and size of daggers shivered into place. In a dizzying leap, this creature—angel?---went from standing still, to over Malcolm, to effortlessly hauling Malcolm up by his neck.

Without batting an eye, the thing spoke, “Looks like we’re taking a ride then.”

In a zip of wind and a spinning feather gently oscillating to the ground, and only to vaporize to ash when it landed, they were gone. And Dan loosely collapsed to his ass at the base of the pillar, his limbs and reason not responding to his urgent need to move and think. His chest heaved, adrenaline spiking as his fear did. “Oh my God.” He managed, covering his mouth.

Two plus two equaled four, even in a world where what he just witnessed could actually happen. Well, two plus two here was: Lucifer was the Devil. And an angel contracted a hit on him…by a soul freed from Hell. The four dollar question then, what the hell could any human do, when the devil roamed free and Heaven let him as far as a leash of lead would allow. Dan swore, bashing his head back against the pillar. The impact cleared some of the cobwebs, and the bigger implications started to roll over him.

None of them any more comforting than the small time local stuff that were knotting his guts.

He had to call Chloe.

* * *

 

**_2:00pm…_ **

Two miles away, Chloe saw Dan’s call and answered on the first ring, “Hey, sorry, I really can’t talk right now.”

She froze on the level of anxiety she heard in her normally nonplussed, and even aggressive, ex, “Chloe…Chloe, I need to see you right now.”

She lowered her voice as she shifted uncomfortably in the Assistant ME’s office chair, shooting a quick glance to the ajar door the Asst. ME could walk through any minute with her reports. “Dan, I’m at the ME’s office, waiting on my reports. Dr. Tomlin’s coming back any minute—what’s wrong, you sound…”

“Scared?” Dan supplied without hesitation, “Damn right I’m scared. Look, I pinged your GPS, I know where you are. I need you to wait for me when you get out—don’t move an inch!”

“Dan, you’re not making sense—why did you ping my GPS. What’s going on? Is it Trixie?” A sharp thrill of cold dread ran through her veins.

“Because I wanted to make sure Malcolm wasn’t near you. I’m still at the station. Trixie’s fine, but I gotta talk to you—no way in hell I’m saying this over the phone.

Now he was motormouthing. “Slow down, slow down. Malcolm—what—?”

“Wait for me. I’ll meet you—and don’t go outside, I’ll come in and get you.”

He hung up with that and Chloe gaped at her screen, just to be sure this call had happened.

It did, damned if she knew what for or why. She wondered how Miryam had fared meeting with her brother…and if Dan wasn’t just overreacting to her new friends’ presence. When the Asst. ME, a man named Derek Tomlin, returned with her preliminary blood screens and autopsy reports for Philip Mortenson, he was unusually reticent. She stood to meet him and thank him for such fast work on the newest victim.

“Whoever you’re looking for, they’re professionals.”

Coupled with Dan’s sudden paranoia, Chloe took these manila folders tentatively, “What makes you say that?” Tomlin, tall and slim with the build of an endurance athlete, crew cut blond hair, and hipster glass, shoved his hands in his lab coat pockets, “He was killed with a garrote. Steel wire by the looks of the damage to his trachea and surrounding tissue.”

Chloe’s tentativeness vanished, and she quickly flipped open the report, “A garrote?”

“Yeah. That’s a highly up close and very personal kill. You’re all but decapitating your victim with your bare hands—not many people have the wherewithal or, if you will, skill, to pull off a kill like this. It’s cold.”

“You have a gunshot wound to the lower abdomen, a through and through. If this was a professional, shouldn’t the garrote have been enough?”

“Dr. Lakshmanan and I discussed this, mainly because neither one of us have encountered a garrote style killing like this before.” Doctor Barath Lakshmanan was the Chief Medical Examiner-Coroner for Los Angeles County, and Tomlin’s boss. “We feel either the killer wanted to subdue his target before killing him, that the victim surprised his attacker and necessitated the shot, or…the contract called for it.” She gave him a surprised blink, “Quite a thorough set of scenarios…”

He shrugged again, “Hey, you bring them in, we let them tell their story. This one was quite a story. I personally think it’s the latter.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, based on the shearing of tissue and cartilage, the sawing marks on the spinal cord, and the trajectory of the entry and exit wounds, Dr. Lakshamanan and I think your vic was cornered, the garrote already secured around his neck before he was shot. Under the duress of the shot, he naturally twisted to get away, and…the killer just helped him along.”

“Made him…garrote himself?”

“Professional killer following a contract would be able to accomplish this—no amateur or spur of the moment thing, here. Plus the dexterity and strength to not only maintain the garrote’s tautness with one hand, and handled and fire a weapon with the other?” He shook his head, “This was---.”

“Planned and calculated?”

“Exactly. And extremely well executed.”

Chloe reviewed her memory of the scene, “There was no blood or blood splatter in Mortenson’s office, it was all in the storage closet. And the secretary didn’t hear a scream and certainly not a shot…” She thought back to all the rags around and one the body and wondered if the killer had improvised a silencer…

“Ample time to draw him to the closest? Close quarters are where garrotes work best, and an enclosed space will contain the shot.”

Chloe nibbled her lip thoughtfully. Tomlin added to her thoughts when he retrieved a small baggy from his pocket and handed It over to her. The partially mauled bullet was uniquely marked, the spiral grooving unlike any she’d seen before. “This is the slug that destroyed his liver. CSIs retrieve it from the scene. Hollow point. .40.”

She stared, rolling the bagged piece of evidence in her palm, “Hollow point with a .40 cal?”

“Not just any hollow point—the guys out of ballistics were a little taken aback by it too so I offered to help and reached out to a friend of a friend who’s a Navy SEAL instructor at Coronado; knows his way around this stuff. We gave him a description of the bullet we were looking at, and the odd grooving on it. That bad little dude is a Frangible Hollow-Point Pistol Ammo, endorsed by an organization called Team Never Quit, started by two retired SEALs, and the gun…the gun is most likely a custom made SIG SAUER P226, from the Palafox Solutions Group, used quite exclusively by SEALs. I think your killer, in this case, is a former Navy SEAL, Detective, based on my contact’s information. Much as that sucks…”

She recalled Tomlin was ex-Navy himself, and like the rest of patriotic America, viewed Navy SEALs as the epitome of hero, especially considering what the now-famous SEAL Team 6 accomplished. His glum reticence was reasonable. Her mind whirred with all the new information, “You said in this case--so you don’t think this killer is the same one that killed Leblanc and our little John Doe?

Tomlin smiled faintly, “Can see why you’d be surprised. If you flip to the back of Mortenson’s report, I attached the Little John Doe’s and Max Leblanc’s as well. It’s a careful setup: on the outside, they look good, but not as good as this. The methodical, uhm, clinical,” he found this the better descriptor, “isn’t there. Your first wasn’t an assassin, I’d say more the fixer type, and I’ll wager our boy here was hired because the last two were a bit too rushed. That, and a firmer message had to be sent.”

“Well, it was.” She shook his hand gratefully, “Think you’ve gone above and beyond on this one, Doctor.”

“Yeah, well, once Navy, always Navy. Assholes who forget that should be run down.” He stayed her leave, even though he could tell she was in a rush now, “Word of advice, Detective. SEALs are a different breed of soldier. Hell, they’re machines when they wanna be. Be careful—they were trained to seek and destroy and that kind of training doesn’t leave you just because you’re out. You know?”

Chloe thought back to the fear in Dan’s voice in his call, “Yeah, I know. Thanks.”

* * *

 

_**2:15pm…** _

On a busy LA street during a weekday, the cavalcade of luxury mid sizes, sedans, SUVs, and sports cars were inconspicuously the usual. When the LAPD Homicide Detective in question exited LA County’s Medical Examiner-Coroner’s office, the tank built Yukon Denali falling in behind between two similar, parked SUVs didn’t draw a glance. Its customized glass tint at 2% below the 75% threshold of light absorption required by law might have drawn the attentions of a uniformed patrolman had one been around. The license and registration, if ran, would come back to the Department of Homeland Security Border Patrol and Customs motor pool for the San Diego sector, out of the Imperial Beach Station. The driver, if stopped, was, behind his Ray Ban Aviator sunglasses, a clean-shaven muscular 34-year-old veteran of both the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. His ID would confirm his employment as a Border Patrol agent at the Imperial Beach Station. If asked why he was so far from his station, he would reply that he was on Department business, and have his superiors called to confirm. Not that any of this would ever occur; even if he was spotted and ran by local police, any federal employee on federal business would immediately be waved on without so much as a warning.

The careful coiffed and created story, or legend as it was known in the community, was at its best because it was very near to the truth; all the best legends for undercover and covert actions had an iota of truth behind them, that’s made them so easy to stick to. The driver was a veteran of both recent wars, served with distinction, and had had employment within Homeland Security after his tours were over—he was however, not just any jarhead looking for some fat from good old Uncle Sam once he’d delivered on his end of the bargain. He was a Navy SEAL, still on the reserve list for active duty for his team, who on his down time offered his considerable services and skills to the highest bidder as a hired gun. He was handled by a deep black organization on the fringes of government and law that curtailed men exactly like him for those who needed dirty laundry washed out and buried, permanently. In fact, he was one of many such operators in the area, handling a case that hit at the heart of several VIP figures and families who held the purse strings of more than one government around the world.

He was the tip of very long spear that was still sailing into port. Ten more operators of similar ilk or skill were commissioned on his heels. If he failed in his plan A, they were a far deadlier plan B. The combination of SEAL and elite Marine Sniper were uniquely culled to maximize the kill, which this contract called for. It wasn’t his business to know more than he had to, but do this job long enough and you start to get peculiar insight into the darker frays of human nature. Whatever the packages that needed to be delivered here did surely pissed off the wrong people.

To his ego’s delight, he had no intention of letting his brothers have all the glory—or any of it. He planned on finishing it himself. But therein lie his issue with the contract; it designated termination for only three of the known participants. Those not termed were to be strictly left alive. Usually collateral damage was expected and therefore factored in as allowable costs. Here, it wasn’t; here he wanted to say fuck the contract and term all of them, forget this pussy footing about. But the money was on the table for just those who followed directions, and he’d stayed alive this long by doing so.

Didn’t mean he couldn’t use those innocents for bread crumbs.

He began his day several hours earlier, staking out the house of the Detective he was now shadowing. Nothing of real interest or opportunity occurred, expect for the identification of a child, and a former spouse. He then moved on to his next assignment, well ahead of his targets. His instructions again demanded emphasis on the blood sport aspect of the assassination, something he was now inured to because he’d learned it so well. He wasn’t completely stone cold, though: even he could be glad these contract holders weren’t after him…

Killing someone on the same side of the coin as him didn’t bother him; the attorney had obviously done a wrong that had to be righted. Personally, this operator, by the means of killing that were tasked of him, thought the poor sap’s usefulness had just run out.  
Though one of his terms went right by him, she was accompanied by a non-term, so he hadn’t acted, just watched. Leaving the scene of his first kill when his term did, he figured opportunity would be knocking. The Bentley her old driver drove was armored and bullet proofed by the very best in the business of armored VIP transport. When she stopped off at an exclusive escort club, sheer volume of non-terms meant she was covered again; that the more elusive of his targets was also there, meeting her, stuck to him more than he should personally mind.

SEALS were offensive animals; sitting around and planning covert hits were not their game. Usually. Given enough incentive, any animal could change their strips, even SEALS. He still hated the waiting.

Her rushed, almost panicked withdrawal from the club brought his hopes up. They crashed when she immediately headed back to Lucifer Morningstar and his establishment. The contract was especially explicit that Morningstar be avoided, more so than the rest of conditions. Made him reckon that since Morningstar had equally deep pockets as the contract holders, they were probably connected. That old saying of what dangerous webs were weaved made this soldier anxious to get it over with.

He wondered if he should have stayed back to take care of the elder Dragón, but by then a more sophisticated following the bread crumb plan was forming. He would be indirect, use the Detective as his anchor and lure, so the next time he cast his line, Miryam Sealgair would be on the end. And the rest would follow the blood in the water.  
That brought him here, and more waiting around. He had no delusions of getting away scot free on the Mortenson kill. He’d purposely made it messy with plenty of signatures for a professional. The last jerkoff they’d hired was an acquaintance, easily traced to them, and was in no way properly trained or skilled to successfully finish the job. Especially when the contract they were now following called for more stringent kills. So the Detective was going to notice the difference, maybe start pawing around in that sandbox, and he’d be there, still waiting, patience thinning out with each passing minute. He might be barred from killing her, but playing a vicious game of cat catching mouse was certainly on the table as far as he was concerned.

Besides, he smiled thinly as she appeared at the complex’s front doors, alternately checking her phone and then her surroundings, the chick was cute. He dug the skinny jean and blouse look on her; hugged all the right spots, and then some. _Hot Tub High School_ had been one of his late night staples…he wouldn’t mind a trip down that memory lane.

She skimmed right over the blacked out Denali parked at the apex of the turnabout for the office’s forum, evidently looking for another car. He decided to turn on his portable parabolic dish then, attaching the miniaturized listening device to the expansive dash and aiming it at her. He tuned it several times until the minutiae of ambient noise was filtered out. He switched on the blinking Bluetooth earpiece nestled in his left ear.

“What are you doing, baby…” he muttered to himself, making an updated three hundred and sixty-degree swivel on the surroundings himself. By her fervent checking on her phone and the street, she was definitely waiting for somebody. He couldn’t be so lucky, could he? That Sealgair would waltz right into his field of play?

An unmarked LAPD Ford cruiser zipped around the curve, sliding in front of him, rocking hard back and forth as the driver slammed it into park. He recognized the harried man as his Detective’s ex-husband, from this morning. As a fellow detective, his presence wasn’t out of the norm, she might have called him, but his demeanor was suspect. The parabolic dish caught their conversation:

“ _I told you to stay inside_!”

Possessive sort…

“ _And not much else—what’s going on, Dan?_ ”

He was well versed in reading people; he’d taken a course on microexpressions from a panel of retired Secret Service agents during his training period with the firm. He didn’t need that implicit training here: this dude was visibly on edge, beyond nervous. That intrigued him, as far was what bread crumbs he could exploit from it.

“ _Look, we should go back to the house; talk it over there. I—I can’t do this out in the open…_ ”

“ _Dan_ ,” the dish picked up a hard exhale from her, “ _I just got a bombshell dropped on me, okay? We have not one, but two killers on the loose. Mortenson was assassinated, not just murdered.”_

He felt a thrill of pride. “Better believe it, baby.”

“ _Wait, you mean--?_ ”

“ _Yeah: a professional. I have leads based on the ME’s reports to follow up on, and fast, like, now. I don’t have time---_.”

“ _Make time!_ ”

The outburst popped his eardrum. “Gah! Jesus…” He took the Bluetooth out for a second to message the auricle of his left ear, before resuming the eavesdrop. He could tell it shocked her too. She was embarrassed, furtively checking passerby’s looks.

_“What has gotten into you?"_

Her ex visibly buckled down, shoulders hunching and unhitching as he worked himself up, “ _What if—what if I told you…_ ” He fumbled, the words trailing off.  
Sitting forward, eyeing the conversation out the passenger window, the eavesdropper was intimately interested now in what was about to be spilled—anything he can use to wrap this contract up.

 _“What if you told me what? What, Dan?!_ ”

‘Dan’ relented, quite shaken by it, “ _Everything Lucifer’s told you about himself is true!”_

Her recoil and scoffing rejection let both know she wasn’t having any of it, disgusted she’d wasted her time. Their audience was bummed too, so much for the clincher—his contract put Morningstar off limits. Budding curiosity was getting the best of him, however; he wondered more and more what kind of person this mysterious club owner was—who’d he know, besides the most important people, and what did he do, to secure safety in a case where many of his closest family members were any one moment away from being termed by the likes of this SEAL? Why was this homicide detective quaking in his boots over presumably tall tales by  a rich guy?

And why did this chick look two seconds away from busting one on his jaw for it?

“ _You’re kidding. You scared the shit out of me…distracted me from an actually important meeting…to remind me why you hate Lucifer? Dan. C’mon.”_ Her scowl was roughly punctuated by a shove to move him aside. “ _I gotta go. Miryam has to know all this new information.”_

“ _No, Chloe…you gotta let me explain more. This isn’t easy!”_ Dan was following her now, pleading like a beaten puppy for attention, “ _I saw something---something I can’t explain, but it involves Malcolm and Lucifer! Lucifer **is** the Devil!”_

She spun on him, whacking him in the chest with the manila foldered report to halt him. “ _And I saw a man who was nearly decapitated by a steel garrote wire, and his liver pulverized by military spec ammo—I’m facing a trained assassin, Dan. I need to end this before we have a full out blood bath on our hands. Are you really going to drag Malcolm in along with Lucifer and his delusions, and throw both in my face?!”_

He almost felt sorry for this Dan; the lady certainly knew how to deflate a man, especially this one. Personally, a little fight was a good kick of spice, and any guy who couldn’t dish it and take it just as well…shouldn’t have the chance; lucky for him Detective Decker had subconsciously agreed. He shifted in his seat, grinning—this was cat and mouse chase he’d actually enjoy: two little mice, one hungry Tom.

 _“Where are you going?_ ” He was following her again, away from his cruiser towards hers. “ _Chloe?!_ ”

_“I told you—Miryam has to know.”_

_“You’re going back to LUX?! After what I just said?”_

_“HA! What, Lucifer’s the Devil? That part? Hmph, yeahno. I have a real problem on my hands, so, if you don’t mind--.”_

_“Then let me come with you!”_

_“You’re not badgering Lucifer.”_

Ohh, sexy—she knows what she wants.

“ _Agreed._ ” Dan was reaching now, scrambling for ground.

“ _No, I mean, seriously_.” She spun on him again, “ _Go, Dan. I don’t have time for your ranting and raving against Lucifer right now. Yeah, fine—he’s got weird ideas and absolutely no grasp on the concepts of personal space and morals, but he’s been helpful, and I’m working very well with his family on a huge case. And then you try to pull Malcolm into this too?! Sorry, not sorry. You’re out.”_

He snagged his monocular then, since they were on the grassy knoll leading slightly down grade from the forum to the parking lot, intrigued to get a good look at her reaction: she was pissed, and all the more gorgeous for it. Dan’s back was to him, so it was his tenuous tone of voice caught by the parabolic dish that clued the listener in: he was desperate. “ _You have to let me come with you—I’m not leaving you alone until you let me explain it all, and then you’re gonna see…Chloe…your new killer isn’t the only danger here.”_

The operator rolled his eyes, keeping the monocular up. Oh, Jesus. This guy was a drama queen, no wonder…

That she paused at all to consider him was doubly disheartening, “C’mon baby girl,” he muttered in encouragement, “Don’t do it…don’t do it.”

_“You’re not going to stop if I say no. I know that much.”_

He dropped the monocular to scowl, immediately reconfiguring his plans to accommodate her bad decisions, “You kiddin’ me? What am I gonna do with his ass?!” He brought the glass back up, intently scrutinizing the ex’s body language: utterly relieved and pretty confident. “Smug bastard. Thanks for nothing.”

“ _No. Not at all.”_

 _“Well…fine. But I’m doing the talking!_ ”

She went to his car, Dan back to his, meaning he’d be a stone’s throw away from the Denali. Confident in the truck’s tinting, and the duo’s intentions to drive to the same, familiar place, the operator was coolly unfazed by the detective’s proximity, even when the man glanced briefly in the general direction of the driver’s side of the windshield.  
The operator smiled and waved ever so slightly as the detective got in his car. “Be seein’ ya, bro. And your lady.”

* * *

  
**_Lux Office_**  
**_2:50pm…_**

Though the arraignment, given the way the afternoon began, wasn’t as awkward as it could be, the straining in seats and stiff leaning away from the person next to them was certainly stifling. Lux and its office suite was not built to confine more than Lucifer’s ego—at this moment it had four: Maze’s, Lucifer’s, Miryam’s, and Andre’s. And probably Draco’s too, judging for the stern look he was giving Andre any time he paused long enough in his typing to shoot another nasty one of his own at Miryam.

Lucifer felt like reminding Andre that since Miryam and Gabriel weren’t blood kin…and the precedent was long and well established, seducing the girl was no crime as long as he went about it the right way—not that he’d made that case to Michael, but Christ, for a guy with a shapeshifting girlfriend, he was a prude…and narrow minded anthropomorphic one at that.

For a baseline of emotional charge, the office space was rank with spoiling nerves. Despite this, they discovered their biggest break in the case yet: there was a money trail, and an intense, overflowing one, between four specific Swiss accounts the LeBlanc family belonged to.

Wonders never ceased with this boy o’ Gabriel’s.…“Do I want to know how you have access to Swiss bank accounts?” asked Lucifer. “Not… that I care really, but, you know…?”

“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Andre grinned at the underhanded joke. Now that there was business, the tension was eased as Miryam joined the powwow, “So, yeah, these four accounts belong to the Leblanc family… and three others, here,” He pointed to a new set of coding scroll down the screen, “they appear to be in business with. Interesting historical point – the Leblanc family was pretty much in receivership pre-and-during WWII. Edmund Leblanc, Max’s great-grandfather, lost a lot of money then. His grandfather continued the slide into mediocrity. It wasn’t until Thomas Leblanc – Max’s father - took up the reigns of the family businesses that the cash flow seemed improve. Thing is, there is no real explanation of where that new money was coming from. Same thing with the other three families. Slow slide into the poor house, then sudden influx of new cash leading to prosperity for all.”

“And this means what exactly?” Lucifer asked.

“It means there is an inconsistency in the story of how these families came to monetary power.” replied Miryam, jumping in, “Can we link that cash flow to our trafficking ring?” She pulled up a chair and started up her tablet, accessing copies of the records they had found in the warehouse raid.

“Meh. It’s a convoluted trail but we might be able to link some of the financial evidence we found at the warehouse with the Leblanc family – specifically through Max. Lots of rumors about the old man having a “taste” for the kinky stuff too, as well as Peter, Max’s older half-brother,” Andre shrugged. “This makes me wonder about Jane and what she might know about any of this. No one is that naïve.”

Miryam agreed. “But in that arena all we have are rumors, no real evidence. Though it might explain why Max needed to be removed from the picture. He was too much of a lose end. Any chance of our finding out who our mystery house guest was?”

“Where is everyone?” Chloe’s voice floated in, a hint of urgency behind the cordial call out.

“In here!” Andre responded, pulling up another chair out of nowhere and putting it beside the desk.

Chloe strolled in with Dan in tow, much to Lucifer’s visible dismay. Dan shared a similar expression, but it was noted quietly how his was much darker and resolute, his well-developed biceps filling out his t-shirt as he crossed his arms. Something had changed his normally abrasive attitude towards Lucifer to this downright loathsome glare, but the Devil was unsure what—he knew he hadn’t done anything outwardly repulsive to the unimaginative sort Chloe and Dan could be, that he could recall, so he let it slide. She, on the other hand, was pensive, even concerned, as she held up her contributions: “I come bearing lab results and coroner reports…and bad news. We have another killer, and he’s a professional.”

Miryam grabbed the proffered reports, gobbling up the information. “Oh my god, a garrote? I thought knife, but.”

“Doctor Derek Tomlin is the Assistant ME. He’s Navy, and has connections within the community. He knows his stuff…served as a Navy medic. The killer didn’t just garrote his victim, he made the victim garrote himself.” She recounted the rest of what Tomlin told her regarding the Navy SEAL connection.

Miryam and her brother were reserved, Draco taciturn, while Lucifer and Maze were both considerate of the reactions of the others to base their own off of.

“Well, obviously we track down the Palafox Solutions Group connections, and see who’s purchased a SIG SAUER P226 and Frangible Hollow Point ammo in the last year.” Miryam decided quickly.

“That may be a lot of blokes.” Lucifer offered, rather out of his element. Guns weren’t his thing: Michael and Uriel, Sword and Inspired Light respectively, would know far more but unprivileged as he was to their presence, there was no asking or telling to be had.

“Then you better start,” She replied curtly, addressing Andre. Her steely eyed attentions slid to Dan, who met her with untampered suspicion, “Do you have anything to add to the pile, Detective Espinoza?”

Dan shook his head, “Just here for moral support.” His tone of voice, modulated to sound easy and unperturbed, fooled no one. Chloe gave him a look for effect but he ignored her annoyance. “Besides, I was on the original body…I should think that would be sufficient?”

Miryam smiled coldly, “Well, if you insist. Though I fail to see what you can do for us that my brother and my unofficial network can’t do faster and better. Unless, of course, you have contacts in one of the most elite law firms in L.A.” Miryam's dismissal was swift and impolite. “Since you’re here…”

“Since I’m here,” Dan picked up the thought, voice rising harshly, “I think I’ll stay.”

With his confrontational leanings, Dan increased the broiling tensions tenfold. Andre concentrated on the stream of information rolling up-screen, catching a drift that was especially interesting: another bombshell. “Have you identified the boy we found at the crime scene?” Andre asked, focusing suddenly on one of the screens. “Because I think one our hackers just did.”

“Show me.” Miriam commanded, moving behind her brother. Maze reluctantly made way for Chloe, who interested in this outcome as well. Still in a mood, Dan blocked anyone else from standing behind Chloe by taking up the space himself. Lucifer internally sized up the possessiveness, sure now it wasn’t his doing—Chloe hadn’t been around him since this morning. A photo of a blond, blue-eyed little boy popped up on the screen. Andre read off the information cache attached to it: “His name was Dimitri Jenkins. Jenkins is the name of the family who adopted him from an orphanage in Russia.”

Dan immediately recognized the bundling of the file access point Andre was invading: “This is an F.B.I. file. …Holy shit, you—you’re hacking the feds? You can’t just—that’s a federal offense!”

“You’re a federal offense, how about that?” Andre snapped back, “Quit crowding me, alright, making me self-conscious.”

Chloe quickly backed him away from the computer bay, fiercely whispering, “You promised!”

“The real question here, Detective Espinoza”, Miryam said, “is why would a ten-year-old have an F.B.I. file?”

“The file is part of an Agency investigation on an unfortunate trend of the dumping of adoptive children, mostly foreign born, on third parties without going through proper channels. Most of the kids had major issues, attachment disorders, psychological issues, etc...”

Andre’s face turned somber, his eyes pained, as if that struck a definite cord in him. “The adoptive parents, in most cases, had no idea what they were getting into when they finalize the adoption. Then the kids start exhibiting symptoms that the family couldn’t deal with, found there was no help for them that they could afford. In their distress they allowed themselves to be convinced that passing their kid along to strangers would be best for everyone. This kid had pretty bad attachment disorder issues. He attacked an adopted sibling with a knife after the kid tried to take a toy away from him. Not the first time it had happened. The family’s insurance wouldn’t pay for more help for him and they were afraid to keep him around their other kids. So, they found someone to give him to.”

“Someone just gave up their child” Chloe had first-hand experience with the worst of humanity, but abuse and mistreatment of children rattled her anew each and every time she encountered it—the price of being a mother. “How do you do something like that?”

Andre snorted, “Ask my dad. I’m sure he can… Ouch!” He jerked as his sister yanked on a lock of his hair.

“Ignore him – he’s being a jerk.” Miryam ran a finger down the screen, reading the file quickly. “Says here the couple Dimitri was given to were arrested over two weeks ago. They had photos of the kids they had been given plus some information about other people in the network. One of them, the person Dimitri went to, was in L.A.” She motioned to her brother, who had inched his chair out of reach of hair yanking. “Find me an address for that name.”

“It’s probably an alias.” Chloe knew this sort was at least clever enough not to use their own name, “But maybe our SVU might be able to help.” She grabbed her phone to make a quick call, leaving the office.

“How does this tell us who our mystery guest might be?” Lucifer asked.

“Someone got the kid into Max’s hands. Who and why? We find out the who we might know who killed Max and why.” Miryam tapped a finger on the table, thinking of how she would do this if she were the one responsible. “Andre, you said the boy had attacked a sibling? Was it a one-time event or something that was part of a pattern?”  
Andre got her drift. “The boy had psychological problems. I’m betting Max was attacked by his new purchase – and the person who delivered the purchase took out both Max and the kid to eliminate a witness.”

“But then why all the clothes in the spare bedroom?” Miryam countered, making him work out the kinks.

“To make us think there was another person in the house, give us someone to chase, someone to distract us from the real issue.”

Bingo. “Well done, brother. Exactly. To distract us from seeing that the people responsible for the trafficking ring in Eastern Europe were trying to set up here in L.A.”

Lucifer shook his head, mystified, “And yet Daddy chose these talking monkeys over his angels…heh. Should have figured He’d also have the guts to destroy both, then, shouldn’t we have?”

Miryam looked away from her uncle, uncomfortably aware of Dan’s attention on them and this conversation, and it was unhealthy on both points, “Not now…Lucifer, please.”

“Family trouble?” Dan suddenly offered from his banishment to the door beside Draco.

“Playing intuitive flatfoot are you?” Lucifer sneered over glass rim. “Well, sorry. You’re wrong again.”

“Huh. So you say.”

Andre half stood from his chair, having had enough of the man’s snark, “You know, dude, I was trying to give you the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t need you pushing buttons you know nothing about, so lay off!”

“Andre, please.”

“No, Miry, I shut up for Amenadiel and you about Gabriel, but I’m not for this human skunk--!”

“--Amenadiel…Gabriel…now there are some names you don’t hear often. Who are they?”

Draco suddenly stood up to menace, playing enforcer now and playing it to the hilt. “You would do well to stop talking, sir. My Lady and her brother have far more important issues to deal with besides your obnoxiousness. I will remove you otherwise.”

Miryam smiled gratefully at her Dragon as the spitting tension shimmered lower; Dan was muzzled, just barely, watching out for Chloe’s return instead.

“Now, we need to find out who got that kid for Max. Remember he’s a preferential offender. Dimitri may look like his usual but his anger issues make him unsuitable for someone like Max. He liked them more submissive.”

“Which means someone picked this kid for his looks knowing that when this waste of flesh tried to have his way, the boy would fight back?” Maze had had Miryam’s tablet the entire time, more enthralled by its information and function than Dan’s attempt at stirring the pot. She had the photo of their original victim on screen, hoping her prescribed torture routines were still being used on the likes of him. She sighed, missing the “good old days” – she would have enjoyed eviscerating this animal.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised if that is why they picked this kid. Figured they could set the kid up to react, maybe even attack Max. Then they would have a scapegoat to blame the death on. But something must have happened to change that.” Miryam looked at the coroner’s report. “Ah, here it is. Dimitri died from a blow to the head. Max must have struck out when or if the kid attacked him. So our first killer finished the job and figured they could make it look like Max was killed by his live-in companion.”

“What about Valois? We suspected that idiot was a middle-man for Max before, acting as his procurer. He was there when we found the primary crime scene. As Chloe said, the first two kills weren’t as clean as the third…Valois was no pro, or the brightest bulb on the tree.”

“But he’s got brains enough to follow orders, and keep himself out of the line of fire. If professionals are in -game to clean up loose ends and send messages about the price of loyalty these days…he’s probably counting down until it’s he’s turn. If he’s in that kind of mindset, he might be willing to talk if it means protective custody. We need to find that little toadie and see what we can get out of him.” Miryam’s eyes flitted from screen to screen, her mind whirling as she put the pieces together.

Chloe returned to the office, looking slightly rejuvenated; marginally good news did that for a cop sorely in need of some. “My friend in SVU says they had been informed of the F.B.I.’s investigation. According to him, the name the F.B.I. has for the contact in L.A. is real. Problem is, they disappeared almost two weeks ago.”

“About the time Max was settling into his new life. Interesting.” Miryam looked over at Chloe. “Care to take a ride over to where these people had their home? We might be able to find something related to the case, something the SVU and F.B.I. might not have seen as important.”

“Works for me” Chloe agreed, turning to leave the crowded office with Miryam and Draco following close behind her. Dan blocked her in. “I told you: I’m not letting you out of my sight until--.”

She leveled her under the eyelash stare at him, daring him to continue. “And you know exactly what I said in turn, Dan. No.”

“Let the ladies and the gent go, Detective.” Lucifer said, drawing the man out of the doorway, fists clenched, “It seems you’ve been waiting for an opportunity just like this since you arrived here. Why not indulge yourself—I’m all about that.”

“…Fine.”

When they had gone and Dan still hadn’t moved from his spot, Lucifer chuckled, waving Maze off, “Men’s talk, darling. Out.”

The demon removed herself with a little brush of fingers across Dan’s arm as she slid past him, “Play nice.”

“Sit, Detective.” Lucifer kicked out at the chair across from him, the one Maze had just vacated. “You look a little green around the gills.”

Dan stared at him and then his nephew. “Are you two really related?”

“You blind or something? Yeah, obviously.” Andre replied.

“How related? You said uncle and nephew.”

Andre glanced to Lucifer, shrugging in assent, “Well, if you really wanna know, it’s like Miry said this morning at the Detective Decker’s place: more cousin than uncle, but it’s easier to go with uncle.”

“So your father…is Lucifer’s brother.”

Lucifer tilted his head in a condescending patronage, realizing beating around a leafy bush when he saw it. Coupled with the attitude change…and Amenadiel’s sucker punch about a fallen human detective as his assassin of choice, he was beginning to see the light, as it were. “Come come, Detective Douche, you’re usually more outspoken than this. Tell me,” he leaned forward archly, “What is it you really want?”

Dan had his weapon freed and aimed at Lucifer’s head before Andre could do the same to him. Andre knocked over his chair in a rush to return the gesture. “Put it down, man.”

Dan moved to Andre, “You first.”

“You know, I gotta say, I don’t do so well with people pointing shit at me, so I’m gonna have to insist, **_you_** first.”

“Detective,” Lucifer said carefully, hands raised ever slightly in submission, “Andre is my nephew, but he’s also his father’s son, so I would do as he says, so we can talk about this.”

The aim adjusted again, Dan a little too bright eyed, “You really are the Devil.”

The statement rang out; Lucifer’s concerns validated. He closed his eyes and dropped his hands in his lap, “Well, hallelujah, one of you believes me. Now put the gun down so we may discuss why.”

“No.”

Andre advanced, covering Lucifer with his body, “Look, you saw something, obviously. And if it was who I think it was, considering what happened here this morning before you and Chloe got here, I don’t blame you. Amenadiel is a bit much for a first encounter. Try Archangel next time, it’s a blast. Now lower your damn weapon!”

Dan swallowed, shifting in place, eyeing Andre, and the unnatural detachment he saw in his face, and then he knew for sure, having seen the same on the black angel that afternoon. “You are one of them, aren’t you?”

“Me?” Andre laughed harshly, “An angel? No. No, not at all.”

“So what are you…if you’re related the Devil?”

“We’ll tell you what you wanna know, if you put the gun down.”

Dan dropped his aim a second later, taking that offered chair now, nodding at the half empty bottle of bourbon Lucifer had by him, “Can I have a shot a’ that?” With a total breach of etiquette, he laid his gun on the table, a show of faith near as much as he was able to give at the moment.

Lucifer shoved it and a glass over, “Surely.”

When he’d downed two shots and his heart stopped pounding, Dan looked to Andre and Lucifer, sitting idly in their leather back chairs as if they hadn’t nearly come to blows. “I saw an angel—what I figure…was an angel.”

“A big one—bald head, huge arms?”

Dan nodded at Andre’s description.

“That’s my brother, er, one…of my brothers, Amenadiel.” Lucifer retrieved the bottle for himself. “Where’d you see him?”

“Precinct, parking garage. He was—he was talking to Malcolm Graham; you know—“

“We know that part, Detective.”

“All of it.” Andre concurred.

“…did you know I knew too, at least…about the plan to kill you? I kinda…took the gun he was going to use for him.”

Lucifer raised his eyebrows in new appraisal of the Detective’s balls, “I concede no on that; well well, you surprise me.”

“You gotta know, I—I didn’t—Malcolm, he--.” Dan stopped trying to explain, slumping in his chair, “Damn it, what’s the use.”

“Look, I’m not going to blow you in, Detective, to your superiors or to Chloe. At least not right now; a little leverage here and there never hurt. Your secret is safe with me. So don’t feel sorry for yourself, it’s demoralizing to watch… By the way, did you tell Chloe? She didn’t seem too thrilled with you.”

“I tried. She…didn’t believe me.”

“Denser than a doornail, that one. No worries. Now you know how I feel…”

“Something else happened between that angel and Malcolm-- That angel, he—he kidnapped Malcolm Graham, right in front of me, wings and all.”

Andre gaped, “ _ **Kidnapped**_ him? Shit. They’ve all gone nuts.”

“Said they were going for a ride—this was after the angel told him to plan to kill you was off, and Malcolm disagreed, saying he’d still kill you—It sounded like the deal was he do it, or--.”

“Or go back, yes, that’s exactly what it was. My my, everybody’s surprising me today,” Lucifer sighed.

“Well, what are we going to do? I mean, shouldn’t we find Malcolm? If he belongs…” Dan swallowed, pointing down at his feet.

Lucifer rolled his eyes, “Hell, Detective. It’s Hell, go on and say it. You know angels and devils are real now, so must be Heaven and Hell. As for going after Malcolm, as long as he’s out of the way, from Chloe as much as myself, I’m not too concerned about him, or the methods my brother uses. Both are already doomed.”

Dan took the bottle back, pouring more than three fingers in his glass, “I can’t believe you were telling the truth. The entire time. Point blank, you’re the Devil. And Hell’s real and Heaven’s real and--.” He trailed off with a hearty gulp of liquor.

Andre leaned forward conspiratorially, preparing the next rabbit hole. “Since you leveled with us, I’ll level with you. You asked if I was an angel…considering I’m related to him,’ thumbing at Lucifer, “What if I told you my father was the Archangel Gabriel, the Heart of God and His Messenger, and that Miryam’s mentor is the Archangel Michael, His Almighty Sword, and our brother Damien is bonded to the Archangel Uriel, His Light and Wisdom? And that the three of us are the Triad, His Chosen Guardians over humanity and all the realms, borne of angelic and magical bloodlines.”

“And,” Lucifer finished for him, “that Dad isn’t too happy with the family right now and has all but written off my nephew and his siblings, as well as my brothers Michael and Gabriel, and is pursuing a course clearly veering towards holy war. What would you say to that, Detective?”

There was a weighty pause, pungent with awe and horror.

“…I would say we need another bottle.”


	23. On the Outside Looking In

  ** _Higher Spheres_**

**_Palace of Archangels_ **

**_Uriel’s Aerie…_ **

The sun rose and fell on Heaven as it did on Earth, the stars bright and the moon pearlesque. Midnight blue spread thick and velvety as angels took to the twilight to bask in their eternal playground. The days were of equal bliss, soft, pliant, happy. Uriel recalled the days and nights the brothers spent, before Vega, under the august sweepings of breathtaking sunsets and rises.

  It was before Lucifer, however, they longed for; before Father cast them out of their virgin paradise as much as He would do to those gifted the Garden. It remained Heaven and its Host, just not the best their world could be, certainly not what had been. That they regained any of the past under such conditions was testament to all sticking together, still brothers, still alive to enjoy the bounty. Sadly, everything they’d rescued from the first time was gone to them, now that the tragedies of Heaven numbered Two: the Fall…and Vega. Uriel was loathed to see Gabriel and Michael become the last leg of that unholy trinity. Their fate in such seemed sealed.

 Cyan skies and cotton candy cirrus clouds opened from the horizon before him as his journey home ended. Wings flung wide to glide, rolling in the thermals to lift his feathers in a massaging tug of cramped joints and follicles. His arrival was witnessed and spread by Seraphim guarding the weakened points of the Veil between physical and divine territory. It wouldn’t be long until Michael would know, as well as Rafael, his twin.

 As much as Uriel and Rafael were twins, they were ying and yang. Light and dark, blond blue eyed, black haired dark-eyed, ripped from the same whole to equal halves, as Gabriel and Michael were. While Lucifer stood alone, as he was meant to. Everything, from eye color, temperament, and character, was as Father most certainly intended it to ever be. That’s why He and Lucifer disagreed…wagered Heaven and Hell …and lost.

 Even so, the care and thought put forth in His sons meant nothing was wasted in the deed. Except, Gabriel lamented and Uriel agreed, in giving the Sword empathy. Michael’s ability to identify with the anguish he inflicted in his Father’s name, and then feel it intimately himself, was callous. And not Father’s last. His cruelties ranged far and wide across the spheres and realms. Vindictive, hypocritical, narcissistic; a hidden mean streak they didn’t know about until Lucifer fell.

Lucifer, the mirror of the Father, His equal, His Son of Morning, showed them the ichor center of their shining love with an epic flameout. The Fall's lingering bad taste became a terrible question that was at best treasonous, at worst necessary: what was Father truly capable of, when His plans were never less than unknown to His Creation?

 Uriel had His Light and Wisdom to answer that should he deigned its path the destiny he wanted to force on himself. He had everything in place to be just as his Father wanted him for. Such a quandary made him consider Lucifer’s position in ways he’d never done or imagined doing: accepting the eldest brother as proof nothing was written, not even God’s Will. In doing so, Uriel was torn between wanting to believe in his Father’s plan and knowing, in his heart of hearts, they were but pawns.

 When Father gave Gabriel, Michael, and he the Triad to nurture and love and train, they gave him hope the Plan was righted and running true to form as it was before Lucifer jarred it. After all, the Triad was meant to save humanity back to the Light. Naturally Father would want that for His children if they were indeed favored and destined to live on, happily secured.

 Then Vega fell. And Uriel learned a lesson far gone in the sands of Midian and Goshen, and time itself. Chosen Ones are born to die. Uriel lost his hope again. And now, if Father had His way, the way He gambled for in Vega, Uriel would lose Damien, and watch two more brothers fall.

 It wasn’t just cruel, it was the Judgement.

 His rooms were as he left them, organized chaos in a wall to wall dome-ceiling library. He purposely kept the mess to have a reason to get lost in the orderly rote of cataloguing it all. He felt that need now, troubled as he was by his last moments on earth.

  In the spheres, thought was action—he materialized a chiffon and cotton-soft scrunch-ankle gaucho pants. Stripping from his mortal wear, quickly dressing, his fingers still worked the ties on the chest deep coverup as he went to work. Damien’s urgent embrace as they parted haunted him. Never before had Damien hung on him, burning with the need for strong arms and their reassurance, not even as a child. The preciousness of his boy needing him as a protector and not just a best brotherly friend bolstered him but unfortunately blurred his focus. Focus…Damien had to have that from him. He shoved that pang of regret to the bottom of his thoughts.

 The restlessness of the task soon lent him to pacing, summoning food and drink for distraction.

 His Seraphim Guard interrupted a few minutes after he’d settled down to reclining on pillows around his inner sanctum’s fountain to announce Archangel. Uriel knew what was coming. The proximity of his twin bubbled like liquid sun over his heart. He sighed, waving them on, as if 'no' was even an option. Rafael was force of nature, paradoxically the gentlest of Healers, and the most volatile of warriors. While Michael and Gabriel were built like Lucifer: tall, elegantly featured, sinuously muscled, powerfully graceful, these younger two were the heavy weights, Rafael the biggest. He had the brilliance behind the eyes Uriel did, entrancing in their deep mahogany brown. His cropped jet black hair was perpetually mussed from constantly running his hands through it. The exuberance and loud banter of his personality lit up wherever he was, irresistibly drawing others to him.  When he nearly bowled a Seraph over to get at a slowly rising Uriel, it was with his normal bluster, but noticeably without his usual cheer. Tree limb width arms and legs worked to carry heavily muscled bulk as he stormed the doors, ham hock hands reaching out to shake Uriel in a crushing embrace, nearly lifting him off the ground. His rustic Outback accented baritone conveyed genuine relief, “So good to have you home, brother.”

 Uriel grunted under the squeezing, “Raffi, I wasn’t gone that long…”

 As Healer and protective older brother, he immediately zeroed in the fading hints of injury. Twisting and turning Uriel’s chin this way and that to catch bronzed skin offsetting the bruising, “Put his hands on you, did he? Should have torn his wings off.”

 “It was Gabriel,” Uriel replied tersely, the obviousness of why he didn’t do such a thing apparent, so he hoped, “Now really…Between you and Damien, I feel coddled. And I hate that feeling.”

 Rafael followed him to his desk, magenta robes flowing behind him, “Mmnot coddling you, I’m defending you. I wanted to come down there and throttle him myself--.”

 Uriel stopped him with a look of warning, “But you won’t and never will.” He gathered a fistful of scrolls to return to his studious hunching.

Rafael joined him, taking his half out of the middle of the gathered pillows. “Never is a bit strong, don’t you think?”

 Another glare and a drawn out, “Raffi…”

 “Look, to be honest, don’t know how much safer any of us are here…”

 “Michael. How is he?”

 Rafael chuckled, leaning close so the hoarse bass of his voice would carry, “You want the bad news or the worst news first?”

 “What do you mean—I wasn’t gone that long!”

 “Bad news first then: he’s locked down his chambers to just himself and his Guard—if he wants to see you, he’ll call you, but he doesn’t want to see anyone. From what my Guard heard, he’s recreated them to Vega specifications.”

 That was a bad sign Uriel deciphered as a step in the definitely wrong direction. “You mean…to the Stratosphere?”

 The Stratosphere was Michael’s Vega based aerie, housed at the top of the highest point in the capital city of that reality’s cradle of humanity. It was opulent, sensually decorated in hues of scarlet, gold, and black. Candles and silken hangings ensconced his massive circular bed.  Well-guarded on the onside, openly, warmly inviting on the inside—Michael’s personality personified, including its more debased characteristics, the ones that drove Miryam away.

 “So he’s embracing the fact he thinks this is Vega all over again?”

 “Wull, you’re the genius—you tell me.”

 “Blast, Raffi, you know that’s a horrible sign—the psychology required to allow himself to even conjure a setting, let alone a--a bed that—that destroyed Miryam’s love for him--!” Uriel couldn’t sit any longer, the calming mask of Rafael’s energy not sufficing his nerves. “I told Gabriel to talk to him! I told him--!”

 Rafael demurely observed the blaring of those shaky nerves as Uriel went for wine, never his first choice of drink and a clear signal of a feeling of hopelessness on his twin’s part. Uriel liked a clear head and wide open eyes, ready to glean knowledge and know-how from any corner of the universe he could get at. If he thought he was the failing lynch pin in this situation because his compassion and heart drove him to be perfect in his job for the sake of his family, then all, in his mind, was lost; so the drink.

 Rafael met him at his desk to cover the goblet’s mouth with a steadying hand. “Uri.”

The youngest angel shuddered at the simple brassy sound of his nickname. His shoulders slumped, “Raffi…what am I going to do? I told Damien I would fix this, and that if I couldn’t…it would be on them, but…how can I relegate them to that fate by my own actions? It’s not fair---it’s not fair that chosen ones--.”

 “Are born to die?” Rafael finished softly, smiling sadly, “Oh, little brother. As usual that nutter brain of yours is getting ahead of itself.”

 Uriel scoffed, slamming the decanter of wine down, dribbling droplets of red down the sides, “How can you be so glib?”

 “I’m not, now stop, I haven’t even told you the worst news and you’re already going off a bloody tangent. You wonder why I don’t tell you things.”

 Uriel threw his hands up, “Usually because I already know! But here I don’t!”

 Rafael tsked, punching him lightly in the shoulder, then roughing his hair like a pesky pup he couldn’t stay mad at, “It’s a good thing I love you, mate. Now listen:  you need to know where we all stand, and that’s where the worst news comes in.”

 He could see Uriel begrudgingly prepare to accept more bad news, if only to use it to help, “Go on, then. I can take it.”

 “Michael’s had Metatron watching the Triad, and Lucifer and his human. Everything they’ve done, said, hell, thought…including Gabe’s attack on you, he’s seen.”

 That drew Uriel’s hackles.

 “Wull…you sort of did the sa--.””

 “—I did not! I might watch out of worry but he’s doing it out of paranoid bitterness!”

 “Then you should know, and you’re probably going to wish you’d pulled Gabe’s wings off…he made a move for Miryam.”

 The lingo was not lost on Uriel but nevertheless his mouth hung agape at it. When he could, his lips wouldn’t form the words properly, “Ph-physically ma-made…?”

 Rafael’s eyebrows rocketed up with meaning, “Physically. And she reciprocated.”

 “…Thereby singlehandedly confirming Michael’s worst suspicions…I think I’m going to be ill.”

 For as long as they’d had the Triad, it was Michael pinning for her, as much as the Sword could pine; more of the far flung wistful gazes in her direction variety of wanting… with half-spoken quasi declarations of love that always only got a smile and pat on the cheek by the more tactile Miryam. Who’d, to the best of Uriel’s knowledge, had only just gotten her mentor accustomed to hugging and being embraced himself without flinching or hesitating, before he left.

 Had Gabriel been that adept at hiding his feelings? Absurd to believe the Heart could be so closed off, …and yet was it? With David death’s much of the openly jubilant, peaceful Heart was gone. With Andre, out of circumspect fear of that boy vanishing too, he ardently kept to that Chosen One’s care and to his time honored, time tested devotion towards Michael. Even if he had wanted Miryam for his own, he was so used to sacrificing all for both he would have and could have hidden it away under the façade of worn loyalty. Confined by the pressures of the Void, Vega, and the situation with the estranged Triad, fleshier triggers for dormant feelings Uriel could not have crafted himself.

 For Miryam, it used to be just Michael and only Michael, the young girl both starstruck and challenged by him. Excited by what he brought to her, coyly aloof to his own needs, routinely tempting him with late night rendezvous in the Sidhe where she freely explored the finest example of God’s craftsmanship, exemplified by a perfectly formed, perfectly **_willing_** , angelic body. She never committed for more because Michael wouldn’t either. Gabriel was the most understand shoulder to cry on, a best loving friend eager to please, and ever happy to return a favor or whim…the favorite uncle…a loving cousin…family…

 Uriel stiffly made his way to his fountain, sinking to its steps. Rafael shook his head as he sighed, decided a little wine wouldn’t hurt, “No, you’re not. Since Gabe just made your argument for paranoid bitterness obsolete, you can plan accordingly.” With goblets in hand, he rejoined his brother, niggling the stem of the cup into Uriel’s numbly working hands and clinking them together. “Hell, I did the hard part, bruv, I got Metatron’s Seraphs to spill their guts to me then forget they’ve done it.”

 Uriel blinked at him, his deep blue eyes lightening to an aquamarine glaze. He blamed himself for seeing the causes all lined up but not seeing the resounding effects of the vigorous, if formerly innocent, attention Miryam adored her steady Heart with. Especially an archangel used to sacrificing for his twin, used to standing contentiously by as that brother threw away the gift of this particular sacrifice. He blamed himself for not remembering what Vega could do to angels normally bound and gagged by laws of celibacy with humans when such laws were suddenly made invalid, and for forgetting the bowing of steady backs from losing so violently, when two such as the Heart and the Sword were so determined to succeed at all costs, even their own lives. He blamed himself for not believing in Miryam’s beauty and peace. All who wandered in the darkness sought that, didn’t they? If it was Gabriel she’d chosen, then she chose well. The only choice she could make. And God’s Light, above all else, should recognize beauty and peace.

  “’Love looks not with the eyes, but with the soul’.” Uriel finally said, with all the airs of one of his great conclusions. That surety composed the anxiety with eerie repose, even as he took a big gulp to sustain it.

 Rafael gave him an odd look consternation, “You come up with that yourself just now? Good Father, I thought you’d solved the whole bloody thing, way you were looking.”

 “No, you oaf—I lent that one to the Bard. I liked him, and it sounded better when read aloud. What it means is--.”

 “I know what it means, bruv. I was just joshin’. I get it, and I get it even better when put to Gabe and Miry.  Post Vega Gabe more than Pre-Vega. ’Suppose it’s been there all along, though, eh?”

 “I hardly blame him…or her…they’ve lost so much, except themselves. For what it’s worth, I’m honestly not surprised, and neither should be Michael. Not going to stop him from taking it in the dead wrong direction, however. So, truly…Raffi…I can still point to Michael for blame. He pushed, Gabriel pulled. He wanted Vega, he got Vega. Now I have to fix it.” He gathered his scrolls about him, blindly handing off his wine to his brother, “You’re going to stay, be useful. Tell my Guard I want absolutely no interruptions. Lock the door, bring me my parchment and kohl, some manna and fruit, then be still and let me work.

 The brush off made him grin. Uriel had his thinking halo on…

 His supplies delivered and orders given, Uriel untied his chiffon at his chest to settle in and get comfortable. Rafael gave him space, taking his pillows to face his brother on the other side of the now organized spread of scrolls. He liked to watch the Little One work, get lost in Father’s Words, but never out of reach, always within sight of the next sign post, racing against his own mind to solve the next big question. He was, in every sense of the word, the anchor of their line. The Last Born yet so much stronger than them all; so faithful, unfailing, compassionate, even fastidious. Without the Light, there was no love for the Heart to give, no soul for the Healer to Call upon, and no Beacon for the Sword to follow home.

 And that sentiment bothered Rafael this day, of all days, where the Heart tried to smother the Light…and the Sword was blocking it out. What games did Father play…that made the Light no more than a means to an end?

  _Vega._

Rafael abruptly sat up, endeared now to something Uriel had said before about Michael and their predicament: “ _He pushed, Gabriel pulled. He wanted Vega, he got Vega. Now I have to fix it.”_

“Uri?”

 Hasty scribbling of kohl on feather light parchment briefly answered him, then a distracted, “Told you to be still…”

 “Uh, yea, yea, but uh, just thought ‘a somethin’…”

 “Whut.”

 “…You think…Michael wants Vega?”

 “…wants, needs, all relative. More so Father, I think.” Uriel gave up and slapped the kohl stick down, flustered, “If you listened when I said let me work, I could have had that part fleshed out, but no. Well…you have my I attention.” He folded his arms in that adorably petulant fashion he’d gotten and then perfected from Michael.

 Rafael should have laughed then, make the next sentence as light-hearted as possible, but the burgeoning pressure he felt in his heart as the thought about Vega and Uriel's part in this gathered meat and flesh on its bones made him terribly serious. “If you’re right…and you do try to fix this…you know what's in store for you, personally.”

 The effect of the words and its invocations decisively struck Uriel, and he looked away immediately, a slight tremble in his chin.

 “I-I’m sorry, bruv…I had to say it.”

 “I know you did.” Uriel took a slice of manna, a thick sweetbread, breaking it in half, reaching over to hand Raffi a piece. “I’m prepared for that.”

 “Wull, I’m not. Once was more than enough.”

 This was not the conversation the youngest angel wanted. He tried to sugar coat it by making it about the numbers and odds, “Worst case scenario, at best.”

 The skin around Rafael’s eyes tightened in grim calculation of the ploy, “You tryin’ to convince me…or yourself?”

 Uriel hid behind his chewing, but Rafael saw the fear and the hurt in his eyes build, “As I did there, I have to be the one who tries to bring them together.”

 “I appreciate that—dedication to duty, all right! But…Uri…don’t you think this time, _**just maybe**_ , your plan should include a provision…for me to protect my twin from death?”

 Overflowing eyes shot to his twin, raw in their swirling sea foam depths, “I would like to think you could…”

 “Uriel, I can! Last time I wasn’t there—because Father said my duty to you would be to let you go alone. Be damned if He plays me off you again.”

 He shook his head adamantly through the entire sentence, “No. No, I need you to promise me…worst case scenario, I fail, and---.” Uriel waved on the rest, “You ** _will_** stick to your duty, be the Healer, save the Chosen Ones, even if they don’t want saving. **_Promise me_**.”

 What he was asking as what Father demanded of him for Vega, and Rafael snarled as much now as he did then, “I will not!”

 “Raffi!”  The ringing pronouncement overruled the objection. “For me—for how much I love you and respect you…you have to promise me…you’ll protect Damien.”

 Rafael looked away too, anywhere but Uriel, his own emotions so potent in strength as Archangel, working jaw muscles in rhythm with his attempts to keep the tears from falling and his voice from failing, “I’ll protect him…know I would. But I won’t have to. Because I won’t let go this time, Uri. This time Dad can go to Hell.”

 Uriel’s eyes widened at the blasphemy, but his smile was easier, if wary, “You’re insane.”

 “Prolly. Get that from you, ya nut.” Rafael paused, then asked another difficult question, “Does Damien know…what happened to you in Vega?”

 “He knows what I told him.”

 Downplaying was never Uriel’s strong suit; too much heart on the sleeve for that. So Rafael tucked his chin to his chest to level a knowing stare, “And that…wasn’t the truth, was it.”

 “I don’t lie—though I could, I suppose, and make it worse for him. I maintained enough truth in what I said to be believable and relatable. As it was, he hates Father and our Brothers for involving me in the first place as a turncoat catalyst. I must say I agree, that hurt more than dying.”

 As Uriel sat with Damien today, knowing he would soon be the one to tell Miryam a hurtful truth herself, it was an especially uphill struggle seeing his charge believe the worst that had happen to the angel in Vega was blatant sellout and false flag tactics. He attempted to right it, alluding to worse fates when he admitted survivor’s guilt was not just a human affliction. Damien was happy to remind him of why he survived while Gabriel and Michael succumbed: it wasn’t his burden to shoulder. How he misled the boy…a white lie that was far worse than Damien could imagine.

 One day, perhaps soon, when this crisis was passed, Uriel would sit Damien down, look him in the eye, and say, “ _Damien…in Vega, when my usefulness was eclipsed and at its dire end, my Father didn’t just send me home like I told you…didn’t pat me on the back and say thank you for your dedication and devotion. Instead, to my horror…He put my dwindling position of strength… to its final end. He allowed a bomb to fall, bury me under a mountain. In my death, my brothers would find no comfort, a new desolation, worse despair. My task completed, He sent me home, swore my silence, and granted me access to you again as insurance. And I’ve acutely despised Him and Vega…and your pain when you realize none of us are safe, ever since.”_

With his death at Gabriel’s mountaintop aerie from a bombing raid by order of Vega’s leader, its Lady of the City, Uriel let his older brother believe Michael’s Alex Lannon was destroying their family, and a balance needed to be struck. New Delphi and all the terrors therein grew from that, while the Son of Morning stealing Alex malignantly metathesized from there.

 The silence his admission of betrayal prompted was less out of the fact the Light just audibly admitted losing faith, and more out of the fact Rafael was reliving his brother’s death.  The moment his bond with Uriel, strung between the realities by its golden thread, severed, Rafael screamed as he’d never screamed before. He felt the weight of the mountain on him, tons of rock and debris on his chest, suffocating him until a mangled rib cage speared heart and lungs.

 Rafael came out of their past, licking his lips for a pointed reclamation of peace of mind. “…like you said, worst case scenario, at most.”

 Uriel looked at him shyly, flopping languidly back on his pillows, chiffon lapels wrinkling open to a golden torso slowly rising and falling in even breaths as he took stock in his Twin’s ease.

 This blanketing affection from the Light had the Healer smiling and laughing, saluting him with drink. Uriel’s lips twitched the same. His goblet rose in response.

 “So…Light. Tell me,” Rafael rumbled grandiosely, “what’s your plan?”

* * *

  ** _Physical Realm—Los Angeles, CA_**

**_‘Skid Row’ Neighborhood (east of Broadway/South of 2nd Street)_ **

**_End of Surveillance Detection Route (SDR)…_ **

**_3:45 pm_ **

The intrepid lone wolf operator was not intimidated by the sketchy surroundings in the least. Having survived four tours between Iraq and Afghanistan, as well as several other instances of death-by-one-wrong-move in many other theaters of operation, it was just sad he’d risked his neck in third-world shit holes to save the same in a supposedly first-world superpower.

 He’d followed his favorite duo of detectives back to LUX, parking a reasonable distance away to employ his parabolic dash dish. The club was closed, cutting down on the amount of tuning necessary to listen in. From his debriefs, he instantly recognized two of his terms—Miryam Sealgair and her brother Andre. The tension in their voices interested him: contention in the ranks was exploitable.  Seems they’d made substantial closure on his contractor holders’ business, though, regardless of family troubles. Laudable, but ultimately shortlived—literally.

 When Detective Decker broke from the safety of the group to venture out for the club floor proper to make an important call, he eavesdropped easily, grinning as the drop in the bucket he’d been waiting for fell in his lap. He disengaged the dish, secured it in its hard sided case, and took off for the address he’d stolen, aware he had but a small head's start. He made a quick SDR apart of his drive, assured he was still the unknown factor for the Sealgair clan.

 Now he was doing what he was paid to do. He might not look the part of deadly hands-on assassin, with his usual skin tight Kevlar Nomex body suit replaced by rugged jeans, light weight black jacket, a t-shirt, generic black ball cap beaten and worked to give it a stressed look, and aviators to cover his eyes, but he was armed like one. His custom SIG SAUER with its signature hollow points was in the small of his back. His gloves and garrote wire, wiped clean from this morning’s usage in its small kit pocket, one of the many in this jacket, while his favorite Benchmark SCOP dagger sat secured in its sheath up his right sleeve.

 Long story short, he was armed for game without the bulk, which, combined with his size and posture, kept the sprinkling of side-eye shade throwing gangbangers he was aware were watching him at bay as he ducked around the back of the house Detective Decker’s phone call pinpointed for him as the ideal choke point.

 His quick survey of the floorplan gave him ideas for ambush. He tapped his Bluetooth ear piece, switching tracks from receiver to amplifier, intent on hearing his little girls before he saw them. He grinned wide, making his way to his hiding place, quite sure of what he wanted to do first to whom when they arrived. The boys would hate him for stealing the thunder, but with guts came the glory. “Welcome to my parlor, ladies…”

 “I think you mean my parlor.”

The cold jeer stopped him dead in his tracks.

 Someone was with him in the house.

 Someone he’d neither heard nor seen. No way he could have missed them.

 His dagger instinctively flicked to his hand as he spun in a controlled pirouette.

 This operator was a highly trained weapon and a wicked actor, adept at playing any role assigned to garner the kill. A scared shitless punk was not one of them, ever, but he was seeing the allure of it when this phantom materialized out of thin air the stuff of nightmares.

 Well…didn’t nightmares die when you wake them up?

 He lunged.

* * *

 Gabriel rushed the lunge, catching the assassin in an upending hold, following through with a crushing, elbow-leading body slam. On top, he leveled the man’s nose with two solid punches. Sunglasses shattered under impact, blinding with glass bits. He reached out to take the wrist of the hand gripping knife and squeezed, breaking bone and shredding tendons with an audible crack and crunch.

 Enraged, fighting back using his pain while eyes and nose bled profusely, the killer slammed an open-palmed strike to solar plexus, then a backhand that brought tears. Gabriel spilled off him, shaking the sting from both hits with a sinister smile at the seething human. “C’mon then.”

 “Sure, but when I gut you so your intestines are your belt, freak, remember you asked for it.”

 Gabriel laughed. Such violent spunk was one of the few things he missed from Vega. Michael used to regale him with glorious stories from their campaigns, before he saw the  wrongs of his ways, of how blood sizzles when it splatters snow, of holding a beating heart in his hands before crushing it to a pulp. The bloodlust sickened Gabriel then, not any more.

 The Void made any queasiness over killing or being killed impossible. Under its thrall, the only thing Gabriel wanted to do was kill. He was in command of himself as of yet, but the mental shields he kept the Void under were fluctuating. Miryam’s refusal to be reasonable, even as she kissed him and swore she loved him, undermined his determination to remain abreast of the Darkness.

 What good was the Messenger if even he couldn’t make a Chosen One fall to his wishes, wishes that could very well be his Father’s? The Void could.

 Its black whispering encouragement to torture the specimen posturing before him, its knife now moved to the other hand, curled his lips in eagerness. Miryam and Chloe would be here within the next few minutes. He always did his best work under pressure. His eyes glimmered a startling platinum shade through his swoop of bangs, the Void pummeling its shields to be free, and dropping his voice to a creaky warble, “I’ll remember you said that.”

 The human lunged for him again, knife out in a well-aimed thrust. Gabriel _sin_ Void would have leaped back, avoiding the blow to the slip under for a quick jab to the throat, crushing trachea. The knife was not Empyrean steel, no signature glint of azure in the blade, and the Void was not particularly interested in self-preservation and quick deaths. It liked to spill blood, its host’s own as much as others; liked to be upon the kill as it died.

 Gabriel followed its lulling call to leap into the benign blade, pulling the human into him as his lower abdomen ate blade up to the grip. The impression of pain burned like an ember scalding flesh before fizzling out. The wound bled, but not as profusely if had it been angelic steel.

 Pinned to Gabriel by a braced fist at the middle of his back, knuckles abutting vertebrae, the assassin drove the knife in as far as it would go over and over, trying to rip up, rip down, gain any advantage at all before the immense pressure Gabriel was applying broke his spine.

 As Gabriel had banked on, the sight of what this human automatically assumed to be another human taking the vicious assault and staying on their feet through it all terrified him. This human might be the best in his profession, but what he couldn’t kill, maim, or otherwise understand to destroy shook all that confidence to bits.

 Gabriel grinned, and twisted his core in brute contortion of muscle and power. The finely timed jolt broke the knife off inside him, the jagged remains in his abdomen protruding grotesquely. The assassin stared at the mangled weapon, a blank look of terror at the smiling insanity following.

 “You were saying?” 

He slammed his forehead into the mortal’s just as he let the bracing hold fall. Stumbling dizzily back, suddenly freed, the assassin was no less helpless as Gabriel bore down on him, grabbing hold of jacket to steady him. He ripped the blade piece free and effortlessly dragged it across the man’s throat without so much as a blink, the resulting spew of scarlet misting the angel. The dull realization he was dead already widened his eyes, but the rapid paling of skin and convulsions as he desperately clutched the gaping wound was just human nature rallying.

 Always at moments like this, where he held human life, frail as their bodies, as it flailed against the Darkness, Gabriel appreciated what Michael saw in it. The macabre beauty of Father’s greatest Creation: he made his best sons bow to lovely butterflies whose heads popped off at the slightest provocation.

 Gabriel saw the man wanted to collapse to his knees. He held him up. Minutely, he knew this was the Void’s work; that he’d tapped too much of it to be healthy…or helpful. Became aware of the impending arrival of Miryam, felt her energy coming closer. He should be merciful, and end the struggle. If it had fully been his show, he would have interrogated more. Alas.

 “I should have asked how many more of you there are. Don’t suppose it matters, you all die the same.”

 Before the mortal could fully exsanguinate, Gabriel took hold of his skull and wrenched it to the left, once, and hard, breaking the neck with a juicy snap. The simile to a light switch ever appropriate. Hefting the deadweight corpse upright, he melted into the ether to leave the body where no one would ever find it, and to wait for Miryam. Now his prerogative had legs under it. Now he’d have his way, as the Messenger should—and the Void did that for him.

 

* * *

 

**_Five Minutes Later…_ **

 Miryam and Chloe arrived at their newest lead unaware they’d been beaten to the punch, and were alive for that reason alone. Draco would have sensed the traces of Gabriel’s manic energy, and the violence it wrought, but the Dragon had begged off driving them, choosing  to run down supplies for tonight’s dinner. Instead, they took Chloe’s cruiser, with the detective driving, her much more careful approach frustrating her anxious partner. _There’s careful_. Miryam thought, cutting a quick look beside her, _and then there’s just plain slow_.

 Little did she know Chloe’s creep helped saved their lives, giving the archangel the opportunity to act, albeit in the extreme, to do what needed to be done.

 Crime scene tape fluttered ubiquitously in half-peeled pieces over the front door, remnants of the SVU investigation involving the address weeks earlier. The surrounding Skid Row neighborhood, a 54-block area on the downtown’s outskirts that had the highest concentration of homeless people in the country, had long languished under the attention of efforts by the city and police to clean up and gentrify this otherwise lost stretch of infamous real estate. It was an uphill battle, the victim of money and politics as much as its residents were. Crip gang tags dotted all available wall and board space, some painted over in a valiant effort to say no to the lure of the streets, only to be resprayed bigger and bolder, while others were from encroaching rival group, the Bloods, who were most certainly made to know better.

 Most belonged to the Five Deuce Broadway Gangster Crips, known for its ruthless exploitation of the homeless and mentally ill in the area as well as being the target of the biggest mass arrest in the history of the city. A third of the gang was rounded up one Tuesday morning in a blitz of more than 1300 LA police officers and federal agents in 2014. Chloe recalled the raid well.

 Teenagers, their pants sagging almost comically to their knees, some blatantly dressed in blue, the Crip’s most identifiable color, strolled boldly past the car, giving the women knowing once overs.

 Chloe made a show of putting her car in park and turning the key in the ignition. Miryam saw this, glancing over at her new friend to read further into the hesitation. “What?”

 The Detective sighed, taking a hard look around at their surroundings before speaking, “Something’s not right with the case, or maybe it’s just me. …why dump Max at the benefit? Why not just leave his body where he fell?”

 Miryam had a ready answer, “The house was too far out. Our unsub or his employers needed him found and unless they called in an anonymous 911 call, no one was likely to find him by accident.” Just as certain she was of her reasoning, another mind-numbing, thought-consuming possibility screamed for center stage. It was a low point in her career, both as Guardian and as INTERPOL investigator, and made her decision to let go the only immortal protector she had left so willfully harder to stomach. Gabriel’s kiss, the implications of a much more involved relationship that she dared to even consider, clouded her judgment and reason still, and made her feel that acute exhaustion Damien warned of, “Or…”

 “Or what?” Chloe asked warily.

 “Or someone's aiming this case right at me.” Chloe turned in her seat to stare. Miryam conceded a small smile, “Crazy as this may sound, I know. But…we were concerned about this sort of thing when the first case wrapped up. So many of the people we gathered up had reputations to protect and the power to do it.” She mentally went back over the names of the families, including the Leblancs, that Andre had found, who might be the money and power behind the traffickers. “We had suspicions there was a mole inside our investigation. Some targets were too easily scooped up but some simply disappeared before we could get to them. Then the night of the raid, some of the buyers we knew should have been there suddenly took flights out of the country, skipping out from under their Red and Blue Notices,” Referring to INTERPOL’s highest level of international warrant type, one that seeks a suspect’s location and arrest and subsequent extradition for a judicial jurisdiction or tribunal, and the second highest notice regarding the arrest under purview of a criminal investigation. Since most nations in the world belonged to INTERPOL, therefore bound to honor all notices as received, that was a feat of corruption even Miryam could respect. “That’s why we pulled the plug on the operation as quickly as we did that night. Tristan picked up chatter that led him to believe we’d been made and by someone on the inside.”

 “But you picked up Max, didn’t you?”

 “He couldn’t resist the lure of finding another ‘plaything’ to entertain him. The idiot all but walked into our arms and then had the balls to expect us to release him because of who his family is. Now…” She tried not to sound depressed, “I really wouldn’t be surprised if his own family put the hit on him.”

 Chloe was aghast, “You think his mother ordered her own son’s death?”

 Miryam laughed sharply, “I think it probably played out like that scene in the old movie Becket – ‘ _won’t someone rid me of this meddlesome priest?_ ’. In her case, she probably made some well-pointed comments about how distressing his actions were, how bad it would be for her grandson if this were all to come out, how bad it would be for them all, etc…” She shrugged. “Someone who’s appointed to hear such things does, picks up on the hint, deals with the situation, and she can claim clean hands as she never really **_said_** she wanted him dead.”

 They were quiet in the immediate moments of that particular revelation.

 “…I don’t suppose I should be surprised. Working with Lucifer these last couple of months, I’ve learned there is more than meets the eye, even in a city I thought I knew from top to bottom. The work jades you, guess I don’t have to tell you that, obviously, but when you do realize there are things out there that transcend good and bad, right and wrong, like this case does…” Chloe looked to Miryam, who was far away in the thoughts Chloe’s words elicited, “I’m glad we’re working together—and we’ll solve it the same way, I promise.”

 Her friend’s cheeks colored in a warm glow of genuine appreciation, “You have no idea how much that means—don’t have many friends anymore, so. Thanks.”

 Chloe’s hand fell on the door release, but stayed to consider Miryam with a raised eyebrow, deciding to ask what bothered her since she sensed the rift between Andre and Miryam, the same tension she herself saw in the woman right now—she was tired, old in her youth, and very much alone, even surrounded by people Chloe knew cared for her.  “Miry, can I ask you a personal question?”

 Miryam regarded her carefully, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Depends.” She replied neutrally, “What’s the question?”

 “What’s going on with you and your brother? You went from okay with one another to barely speaking. Normally I wouldn’t ask but, if it affects our case…”

 “No – it won’t affect the case. I’ll make sure of that.” Miryam tried to figure out how much of the truth she could tell this woman beside her. “It’s kind of hard to explain.” She paused again, settling on a route to take, “Do you have siblings?”

  “No, but I used to wish I had a sister or brother. Someone to share my history with, someone who would understand the world I was coming out of, someone to talk to that wouldn’t judge. Heh…oddly enough, Lucifer's kind of taking that place…”

 Miryam snorted at that. “You can think that if you want, but you really don’t know what it’s like, I can tell. I have two older brothers, multiple older uncles and cousins – all male. And yet I feel like I’m the only adult in the group. Well, except for Damien, of course. He takes being the oldest child to the absolute limits. Sometimes he pulls the ‘I rule your world’ shtick and I just want to…” she smiled thinly. “Never mind that. I told you about my family right? I was adopted into Damien’s family when I was barely seven years old. Technically, I’m the baby of the family but I swear sometimes Andre acts as though he is. For most of his life he’s been attached at the hip to his dad, Gabriel. They were absolutely inseparable. Find one, you find the other. Andre’s biological parents abandoned him when he was an infant so Gabriel’s been the only stable thing in his life – at least until he became part of my family. And Gabe was the original helicopter parent. I don’t think he ever let my brother out of his sight for more than a few minutes. And as strange as this may sound, Andre was okay with it, enjoying having his father’s undivided attention. He’d make jokes about taking Gabe on a double date just so he wouldn’t have to answer all the ‘where are you going and when will you be back’ questions. Recently, however, things changed.”

 Miryam stopped there for a brief moment, sayng the rest of it in her head first so her own emotions on the subject wouldn’t show. At a later date, she’d looked deep into their shared paths, these angels and her, to decided when it was she truly fell in love with Gabriel. To want him so much now that she had the wherewithal to send him away, it had to have been before Vega, before Michael gave her up…before her death at Paradise Falls. When it was innocent fun in the Sidhe; he’d come with Andre to visit, and they’d go for swims, have long talks around the fire, teasing the reckless Heart so mercilessly and getting the same in return, instead of a biting look of dismissal from the more taciturn Michael. She wanted Michael because he wanted her, but she loved Gabriel because he loved so completely back.

 “…Gabriel was…deployed,” She began again, “For the first time in his life my brother didn’t have access to his father. Andre started to feel adrift. Abandonment was something he’s always struggled with. And it didn’t help that my relationship with Gabriel’s twin Michael dramatically imploded, which my brother blames on both brothers.”

 “Complicated.” Chloe commiserated. Her own relationship with her flighty mother had been difficult at times so she felt for both of the siblings…

 “Anyway, Andre and his dad had a big blowup about Gabriel’s deployment and Michael’s screwing me over. I don’t think they have spoken since then. They are both bull-headed, stubborn, idiotic…Don’t get me started. They’re arguing over nothing, both of them pretending they aren’t hurting, that they don’t miss each other intensely, that they don’t still love each other completely. And I’m caught in the middle since Andre blames my problems for the argument rather than admit it’s all about him being afraid of losing his dad.”

 Miryam stared into the dash, saying what she did next for her own problems with Gabriel too, “Gabriel is trying to find a way to make it right but all he’s doing is crowding. I can keep Andre focused on the case with help from you and Lucifer, but that in itself is causing a problem. Gabe is not a big fan of Lucifer’s.”

 “He knows Lucifer?” Chloe asked, not really surprised, since as she noted to herself while meeting her brother Damien and his friend Uriel, all the men in Miryam’s life were connected—she just wouldn’t have known that without Miryam because with Lucifer, the word ‘family’ translated into venomous spouting off at a father he clearly wanted to simultaneously piss off and forget.

 “Yeah – about that. Gabe is Lucifer’s younger brother.” Chloe mouthed‘brother’ with huge silent emphasis. Miryam nodded in appreciative agreement, “Mmhm. Lucifer’s the oldest-Uriel, Damien's friend? He's the youngest. And no – they are not on speaking terms. No one in this family is on real speaking terms except me and Damien. And I’m not sure how long that will last. So. See? This group gives a whole new meaning to ‘dysfunctional family’.”

  _How many more hints does she need,_ was the unconscious thought Miryam tried not to smile at. All the bread crumbs were there: brothers named Lucifer, Michael, and Gabriel…estrangement…betrayal…but if Detective Decker wouldn’t even take her uncle’s unconditional declarations of Devil and Damantion… wasn’t much else she could do…

 Chloe patted her friend’s hand, turning back to the case at hand for common, relatively uncomplicated ground. “So, shall we?”

 They took care with watching each other’s back. The would be gangbangers clearly had the home field advantage, wolf-whistling and catcalling after the two very pretty lady-cops but made no move to up the ante.

 “Let’s be quick-ish about this, hm?” muttered Miryam, picking up the pace as she glared in the men’s general direction.

 Chloe agreed, but something caught her peripheral vision. Down the street, neatly tucked in an alley way that would see the vehicle stripped and hocked by nightfall, was the peeking leading grill-and-emblem edge of a Chevy Yukon Denali truck. That jogged memory, memory that fired into recall, recall into action. “Hey, wait a minute. Look there.”  Half-pointing the way, “See that truck?”

 She started off towards it, jogging lightly. Miryam had no choice but to follow, unsure what the emergency was.

 “Uh, Chloe…the house? We need to check that out.”

 “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

 The truck was a new model, sleek, huge, and black—the tinting alone worth at least half the whole Bluebook value of the vehicle. Locked tight too. Chloe stood still at the grill, hand outstretched but not touching.

 “What are we doing, Chloe—talk to me.”

 Forcing thoughts to be linear and orderly, and not conspiracy-theorist wide and wild, she walked the perimeter of the vehicle, cell phone out and taking pictures. She peeked in as much as she could with the glass tint, but unable to get much. “I swear…I saw this truck at the Coroner’s office—parked in the turnabout when I met Dan there.”

 “Oh.” Miryam crossed her arms, “So he doesn’t have permission to be on this case—he made you bring him with.”

 Chloe put up a finger, signaling a ‘don’t go there’ moment. “I didn’t think of it at the time, just another car parked at a busy office park. But what are the odds this same truck would be here when we’re here.”

 “How do you know it’s the same truck?—I mean, a high end, high profile vehicle like this, pretty common in LA.”

 Chloe didn’t respond right away, taking pictures with her phone of the license plate—clearly government issue plates, which jogged something else in Chloe’s head. “It’s a hunch...Sort of. The tinting…it’s…pretty much illegal, and I’ve been around the people that go for this sort of tricking out to recognize it.”

 “The _Hot Tub High School_ crowd?”

Chloe looked to Miryam, a guarded, somewhat plastered smile on her face, “Mmyeah. Actually. Problem?”

 “No,” she smiled, laughing, “No…Chloe…I was teasing you. Relax. Okay! So. Same truck…and?”

 “With government plates, illegal tinting—to hide behind presumably—and is, oddly enough, in two places where I was too. I mean…the first might not have been intentional but, c’mon, considering it’s here while we’re here, left alone? What would a federal vehicle be doing here, if it’s not part of a larger raid? We had federal help in 2014 when LAPD partnered with the FBI to take out a huge chunk of the Broadway Crips here—but they don’t travel alone into a neighborhood like this without orders or explicit reason. And why would a federal agent, of any agency, be at the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner-Coroner’s office, and not draw big attention from the Department? Trust me, when the feds are in town, we know it.”

 Miryam’s gaze narrowed in stricter consideration, knowing the last part about federal egos being bigger than Texas to be true. Taking a second look herself at the silent sentinel of a truck, just sitting here in a position to be rick-rolled—“Okay…okay…I’m starting to see it’s…kind of weird. So…where’s the driver, our Federal Agent?”

 “Good question. But first things first, don’t you see what I’m getting at, or…?”

 Miryam cocked her head at her friend, the leap Chloe made still skirting her, “I—no…? I dunno.”

 Chloe was disappointed, “C’mon, Miryam…think about what Dr. Tomlin told me.” Seeing the bulb needed another twist, she gave in an inch, “Mortenson’s killer?”

 Ah. There it was. The light bulb moment; Miry’s gaze lit up, then darkened prophetically. “Oh. The professional.”

 “Government plates. Ex-Navy SEAL, covered in federal credentials…”

 “Perfect cover…Perfect killer for hire for a fairly connected family like the Leblancs…”

 “I think you better see how your brother Andre is doing tracking down the Palafox Solutions Group connections.”

 “Think we better get that plate run; do big brother a favor in letting them know which of their agencies is leaking like giant sieve.”

 Chloe gestured back towards the house. “So this guy…he’s probably following me. Followed me back to LUX, traced or...or listened in to my conversation with SVU…got here before us.” She tried to keep her voice even but the uptick in tempo belied her fear—she’d made the high point of her career so far…only to find it the blackest of pits, with monsters around every corner…

  “Ambush.” Miryam soused out.

 “Exactly. Think we should ask our friends over there if anyone’s come in or out of the house in the last half hour?”

Miryam turned just so on her heel to eye the snidely curious baby Crips circling just on the side of respectful distance away. “Ohdefinitely.”

 She went from standing still, to marching into the danger zone before Chloe could stop her. Her long legs gobbled ground, backing the teens up in eager bewilderment.

 “Oh-ho, _mamasita, ¿cómo estás_?, baby…” The bravest of the group of ten, all dressed in the requisite _cholo_ attire, the gold chains, two sizes too big Hanes tees and jeans, and no more than twenty years old, spouted, genuflecting as much at Miryam. “Aye, I had my eye you…was kinda hopin’ you come over.”

 Miryam gave a pert smile that could have doubled as predatory if the boys in front of her pretending to be men actually viewed her as the threat she truly was. “Really? Well…isn’t that funny. I was kinda hopin’ **_you_** would.”

 The group chittered in mad respect for their bro, snickering him on. She circled on him laterally, easy and loose. When the kid jutted his chin out, making his move on her, Miryam struck. Snatching him up the shirt, she cracked his jaw in uppercut that dropped him, then slammed him again while on his knees in a vicious cross cut, ending with a head lock choke hold. “So, here’s the deal, bro.” Maintaining the hold with one arm, her bicep swelling impressively over his throat, making him thrash, and his friends the baby Crips to get the hell out of the crazy bitch’s way, she drew her INTERPOL badge, and shoved the open credentials in his face. “INTERPOL, asshole, know what that is? A big bad international organization tasked with running punk pissants like you into prison for a long time. So you’re gonna cooperate, right?”

 Tugging futilely at her sleeve, the freaked kid lost his bravado as tears streamed, so he nodded vehemently.

 “Fantastic. See that house over there.” She maneuvered him roughly about, stretching his neck in the process, “The one with the crime tape on the door?”

 He nodded again.

 “Anybody suspicious…or weird, that you haven’t seen before, go in there in the last half hour.”

 Again, he nodded.

 “Awesome. A man?”

 Nod.

 “Has he come out yet?”

 A nod, but in the definite negative.

 “Great. Thanks.” She threw him forward, standing quickly as she did so with a hand on her weapon just in case. “Now get the hell out of here, and tell your buddies to do the same. I don’t want to see your faces when I come out.”

 Rubbing his neck, trying to fix his blue bandana as if it would fix his broken ego, the kid scrambled to his feet, tripping over his saggy pants as he did so.

 “And make better decisions!” Miryam called after him for the hell of it. He ran faster.

 Chloe waited until the JD in training was gone before confronting this…balls to the wall crazy mysterious INTERPOL agent hat had so completely integrated herself into her life without asking for permission and likely not thinking to get any. “The hell is the matter with you! You are worse than your uncle, you know that?! But the flip side is YOU KNOW BETTER. Miry…!

 Miryam mentally checked herself, realizing Chloe wouldn’t see it her way no matter how she explained it, but she did try. “I’m sorry,” sounding genuinely rebuffed. “That was dumb. And illegal…but I needed to make an impression on him and his gang so they wouldn’t be in the crossfire if this goes sideways… and, while he won’t mention the fact I just had his balls in a vice and his crew abandoned him, they’ll let the rest know something off is happening here; street chatter is a detective’s best weapon, right?”

 Chloe crossed her arms in strictly professional wariness, “All right…I guess. I dunno. You know, I thought Lucifer was the craziest one.”

 “Well, now you know me, right? Besides…I think I’ll take that as a compliment: Lucifer is…just misunderstood. His crazy I can understand. Don’t worry, you won’t have to save my ass like you do his.”

 She drew her Desert Eagle.

 “Waitaminute, waitaminute, we’re calling this in…Miry, we can’t go in there without back up!”

 Chloe block her path.

 “No,” Miryam said simply. “We’re not. Remember what I said back in the car, about this being directed at me and my family?”

 “Then if he is here for you, all the more reason to do this by the book. I told you what Tomlin said about this kind of soldier—what possible experience do you have against someone like that?”

 “You would be surprised. Chloe…” Miryam shook her head, “Look, when in the last few months…has by the book helped you? Lucifer kinda of hates the good book, if you haven’t noticed, I’m not fond of it either. We don’t have that luxury of time.” _At least I don’t…_. “The sooner we snip this off at the root, the better for all us, for you. He’s contracted to kill me and my family, anyway, not you. If he wanted you dead, he would have done it already. Okay?”

 Miryam got around her, crossing the street and heading up the front walk of the house. Chloe drew her own weapon and raced to catch up, “No, it is not okay!” Her voice dropped to a harsh whisper, “Do I have to arrest you to make this stick?”

 “As much as I like you…please don’t try.” She tried the front door, easing it open when it yielded, “Take the back.” And then dashed inside. Without a choice, if leaving Miryam to her fate inside was ever even on the table of possibilities, she kept up a stream of darkly muttered choice words for her usual partner and his effect on people, niece included, as she ran for the back of the house, searching for a way in.

* * *

 Even the ether couldn’t cool Gabriel—his heart pounded in arrhythmia as Miryam’s energy bathed the house. It was wrong to feel this way. But if stopping were an option, he would have gone on her command.

 The blood caked to his skin had dried and tightened, itchy and dirty. That part of the disgust was all him. The Void, however, only griped there wasn’t more, coldly reminding him an Empyrean blade would have made his actions foolhardy and truncated in effectiveness and then waving that off with a curt sigh of how much sweeter the spilling would have been with the Empyrean. He rolled his eyes at that. Living with this weakened form of the Darkness was oddly like dealing with Lucifer—some transference must have occurred in the Beginning.

 Her distinctive voice bravely identifying herself as INTERPOL, to come out with their hands up, completely ignoring the rules of covert engagement, didn’t make him proud, it made him angry. Anger invited the Void forth, again boomeranging against its shields, slithering harsh words in his ear, ordering him to assert himself, make her yield, put her to her knees and drag her by the hair if necessary to the Sidhe—take what he wanted of her and get on with it. Had to force himself to see through this red haze of rage, rage that wasn’t all his; so relieved he could still recognize that. It meant the shields were holding under the onslaught and he could ready for the leap into the tangible.

 When she swept over the threshold of the kitchen into the small living space, catching sight of a fresh pool of drying blood and halting immediately, Gabriel twitched: trap sprung.

 He exploded from the ether in a mass of swirling light, color, and coat tails. Time acted like a suction cup removed from a pane of glass: popping around them, from slow motion in his leap, to real time at their collision. Caught completely off guard, Miryam had no chance to block or dodge, not even to scream. He knocked the wind out of her, killing reflexes, manhandling until he had her secured against him. He ripped open the ether and threw himself back behind its veil.

 The room was quiet. No sign of distress from the physical plane. The Detective called her name in a low hissing whisper, terrified the ambush had already happened; she could have walk by at that moment, and not a single solitary inkling that her partner had just been kidnapped would alert her. From within the ether however, it was a different story.

 Here, Miryam screamed, kicking out as Michael taught her if someone ever got the grab on her. The ether did not change their surroundings, just put another layer on them: a murky plastic wrap around the physical that did nothing to dull impact, only hide it. They fell together against the living room wall, all of Gabriel’s weight crushing her. He pinned her arms over her head, strong-arming a cage with his body so she couldn’t attack or escape. She was at his mercy, most defiantly not as a shrinking violet. Rather a stunning beauty ready to kill, outraged at the treatment, no less from Gabriel for added insult to injury.

 He gave nothing away in his expression except cold fury, frightening in the lack of emotion otherwise. No motive except that he could do this. As adept as she was, as well trained as she was, Gabriel ** _was_** archangel. No amount of training could give her that kind of power. She hummed in her own fury, wildly glaring, chest heaving, adrenaline flowing, eyes terribly bright and flashing, a verbal lashing on her tongue.

 Then he smashed his lips against hers. Any trace of the tentative, gentle Heart she’d connected with in the alley was gone. This Gabriel was hungry, wanting, an exquisitely sculpted marble statue of God’s power-crazy Word come to life, hard and sinewy; every little twitch of muscle and tendon visible. Despite herself, despite the fact he’d just accosted her, kidnapped her, put her human partner in danger by taking Miryam from her duty to kill the assassin herself, she found herself responding. Beyond the high pitched screaming muffled by the kiss, the struggling to get free…the butterflies betrayed her, a spread of excited anxiousness swooshing through her chest to her stomach, and, blast it, lower.

 The whimpering became a soft moan as his own kisses evened out, no less passionate. He moved his lips to her jawline, then her neck, his body cage collapsing against her. She shuddering around a rushed call of his name when they reached her collarbone. Her hands immediately slid under his shirt, an automatic response primed long ago by Michael, when he still showed her this kind of affection, the kind she craved. A slow tantalizing crawl from washboard abs to his chest, ending with nails digging in to taut curve below nipple, making him breathe a little faster too.

 He finally came up for air, meeting her gaze for the first time in the entire encounter, having the good grace to appear sheepish. “Would you believe me if I said I had to see you again?”

 Their foreheads rested together, breathing as one.

  “I told you to go.”

 “Couldn’t.” Swallowing so his throat clicked, the headcase euphoria of her, here, in his arms, overwhelming. “Knew I should but…I couldn’t.”

 His own hands found their way under shirt, hers, to rest on a trim midriff in a way that arched her hips into him. He pushed right back, daring her to do more. 

“We can’t do this,” she tried. “Michael is watching…there’s…there’s an assassin, in here…” Coherence was buried under another long kiss that left his hands just below her breasts.

 As soon as she had her mouth back, she tried again, “Gabe! Listen to me!”

 He faltered, sighing in exasperation, his weight shifting on her as he moved a step back. The mood undeniably killed. “I know, I know: my brother’s watching and you have an assassin on you.” He was blunt, unkindly snapping, “Well then, I hope my brother sees what a fool he is. And you don’t have to worry about your assassin…or your little friend’s safety. I killed him. Not five minutes before you arrived, I slit his throat and broke his neck. Threw his body into the ether where no one will ever find it. For you. Miryam. Because you’re too much Michael for your own good—you’d do just as you did, run into danger! If I had gone, you would be as dead as he is.”

 He tugged her hands from his body to draw away completely, his confession leaving her numbly speechless. She showed as much when tears welled behind long black lashes, refusing to fall as her mind worked to catch up, mouth opening and closes in time with those attempts. “You—you killed for me?”

 His rolling swagger suckerpunched her gut in the reverse of what his kiss did. “Does that surprise you?” He opened his arms, beckoning to the room beyond the veil, “You forget, I killed two billion people, Miryam…because Father asked me too. Or that I helped raze whole civilizations to the ground long before Father opened Vega to us…because He asked me to.”

 The energy in the ether flip flopped polarity; suddenly it was Gabriel’s commanding the veil, not hers. His included the Void, and the putrid streams of Darkness spilling off Gabriel as his words sharpened to daggers had Miryam shrinking in terror, “I let two sons, go one to death, one to lies…BECAUSE HE ASKED ME TO. Now imagine…what I could do, simply because it’s what **_I_**   wanted.”

 “…Oh…oh, Gabriel. I’m so—."

 “DO NOT SAY YOU’RE SORRY.” His bellow stunned her silence. “I don’t want to hear…more lies. You’re not sorry, you’re never sorry, Michael taught you that much. You can stand in my arms, kiss me and swear you love me, and still look me in the eye and say you’ll never save yourself. That’s not sorrow or love, that’s martyrdom, and I... hate…martyrs.”

 Her forcibly hinged her elbow in a way it could not bend to poise their lips just inches apart, the passion eclipsed, “So I’m doing what I want now. And that’s putting you the Sidhe and keeping you there. Drop the borders, Miry. Drop them now.”

 “Gabriel, please! I can’t go. I am sorry if I hurt you, I would never do that willingly.”

 He shook her viciously, growling in resistance to the plea. “More lies!”

 “No! No, it’s not.” She swallowed heavily as she fought to reason with him, her throat bared so by the hold he watched its convulsion with rapt awe: she was as fragile as the mortal he killed for her. “I love you. I do. More than Michael, and I stand by that. But Uriel and Damien told me…about the Void.” She adopted the most delicate of gentle coaxing, hoping to calm him enough by extending understanding compassion, something the Heart used to know well, “I—I don’t think you, Gabriel, killed that mortal—as dangerous as he was to me and my family—to us---it was Void, Gabe, not you, who killed him. You’re good, remember I said you have His Heart? The Heart of Heaven couldn’t do that. The Void—it’s taking your hurt, your pain from the past and Vega, and turning it loose on the world around you. I understand your pain-I have it too. But we can’t let it consume us. We still have jobs to do. Let me…do mine…and I promise you, we’ll get Michael to understand too, and then we all can be together again.”

 The pressure threatening to snap her arm lessened. His rapid search of her face and eyes for deception stilled, the rigidity in his body didn’t…so she kissed him, as slowly and tenderly as she had in the alley behind Lux. He melted, arms falling to his side as he let her take control; those long fingers inching up shirt hem to caress his flank, sending reflexive shivers through the musculature. He flinched when she reached the freshly healed knife wound, stepping into her administrations to hide it, opening himself up to her and the electricity rippling from her fingertips. No one had ever touched him like this. Michael didn’t deserve it either.

 The tears she’d held in fell in fat droplets down her cheeks when she realized that thought he might not remove her to Sidhe, he would never let go. Neither would she. Not when he was everything Michael was and wasn’t, loving her so freely. Asking—demanding—he leave was too soft. Like she did with the punk outside, so sure of himself and his credibility, his power, she needed to make an impression. An impression that would hurt him…possibly kill their love forever. But keep him alive just the same.

 Her Desert Eagle had somehow ended up in its holster so she slowly drew it, cocking it inch by inch until she heard it click.

 And pushed away from him like a gust a wind, the muzzle landing center mass. Arms shaking in their aim, she sobbed at the reckoning dawning in him. “Gabe, don’t look at me like that—I TOLD YOU TO GO!”

 His chin tilted in a meteoric rise of shock, bangs falling over one eye in that same rise’s fall to sickening loathing. “Even you.”

 She begged, “What else can I do?!

 “Even you,” he repeated hoarsely, “And I fell for it.”

 “I told you: I love you. And I won’t lose you. You have to leave!”

 He stared down at the gun, voice breaking horribly as his face did, “Second time today…someone I believed I could trust has pointed a gun at me.”

 He grabbed the muzzle, overpowering her with ease, to adjust the aim to over his heart. His pointer finger intertwined over hers on the trigger, dread flooding her as impending doom ratcheted up around them. The Void sang in his veins, haloing the couple.

 “Your bullets are Empyrean Steel. So…if you’re going to point a gun at me? Make it mean something!”

 “Gabe, don’t—I don’t want to hurt you!” She yanked the aim, or tried to. He held firm. She blanched when she saw the trigger depress.

 “You don’t want to hurt me?” His whisper coiled, chilled with the Darkness. “That’s interesting. You’re doing quite well.”

 Another inch of pressure. “Gabe, stop!”

 “Don’t you want to see…what Empyrean steel does to an angel’s heart, Miry? You’ve never seen it, have you? No…no, you wouldn’t—we kept you away from that. I’m going to show you: first, I’ll explain, so you know what to look for.”

 “This is the Void, Gabriel! The Void, do you hear me?!”

 He went on unbidden, “Empyrean steel shreds tissue and organ, impossible to heal without Rafael…and acts as a blood thinner, so not only do we bleed out, we bleed out quickly. You have five seconds, at the most, from time of impact to death, Miry…And we die with the feeling of fire eating us from the inside out, until there’s no feeling at all.” He wrenched the muzzle flush against his pectoral, clamping down on the gun from above and solidly fingering the trigger. “Are you ready?”

 Miryam spread her mouth in a thin irritable line, no longer inconsolable. She let go of her weapon, giving it over to him, “To watch you die? Never. …Before you do this…think about me. What you’re forcing me into. You kill yourself for what? To show me the consequences of my actions?! I know the consequences. If I don’t do my job, innocent people will die. And I’ll never be able to look you in the face…or remember you the way I want, without thinking about how you selfishly condemned me and them…for what **_you_** want. So do me a favor: put that gun to my head and pull the trigger—okay? I don’t want that baggage.”

 The rigidity rebounded through him. She held her breath, unsure of what to do if he did pull the trigger, the mere thought of his heart exploding in front of her, killing him instantly, churning her stomach to bile. He snarled. And threw the gun away.

 Miryam calmly retrieved it, unable to look back.

 “You don’t know the meaning of the word, Miryam. Father always said: let he who is without fault, cast the first stone. Your glass castle shattered a long time ago, my love.  You’re going to need me one day…you’ll have pushed too far, and I won’t be there.”

 “…If it keeps you alive.” Her head toss was insolent.

 He sucked in his cheeks to gaunt, resigned too, this could very well be it for them. So he handed off his parting gift. A sealed envelope and a blood splattered smartphone. “The assassin’s phone…and I found that in one of the bed rooms. Don’t know what it is. I…hope it’s helpful.”

 There was nothing else to be said, but so much left between them. She ached for him, for when he was gone, the ether swallowing him up, and spitting her out. Without the ether, or the archangel’s hypnotic pull, it was an ugly loneliness. The dull physicality of the room shed of the false skin, its rancid smell of baked garbage and peeling paint…

 _Gabriel…_ She cried thoroughly, quietly, the only moment of grieving she’d allow for. When Chloe found her, the stony exterior was firmly in place, dry eyes and all.

 “Miryam! Thank God, I’ve been calling your name, didn’t you hear me? There’s no one in here; I’ve checked and double checked--.”

 When she saw her friend wasn’t listen, she stopped, “Hey, earth to Miryam.” Waving her hand in front of the woman’s face, finally getting an eye blink, “You alright?”

 Playing her part, Miryam smiled. “Of course. Sorry…yeah, I guess our assassin beat feet. There’s fresh blood in the kitchen entry way, did you see it?”

 “Yeah, yeah. Between that and the truck, I had to call it in. We need to get some CSIs down here.” Hearing an apology in there, Miryam smiled again, “Ignore me next time I say let’s be stupid…you were right. Thank you.”

 Chloe nodded, then gestured to the objects Miry held, “What did you find?”

 Holding up Gabriel’s contributions, unable to resist, “Manna from heaven, I hope.”

 

* * *

  ** _Los Angeles Air Force Base, 61st Air Base Wing_**

**_El Segundo, California_ **

**_17 miles away from LUX_ **

**_6:00pm…_ **

The C-17 Globemaster was long and robust. On paper and radar nowhere near where it actually was. The aircraft’s ‘tail code’, its serial number painted prominently on the foremost tail portion near the stabilizer, was blacked out, completely against regulations. Its pilots could be court-martialed and dishonorably discharged, or worse, should they be caught complicit.

 After taxiing off the runway into a hanger, three civilian Hummers arrived in a convoy that splayed in a fork formation in front of the idling plane. The plane passengers disembarked, the Hummer drivers disembarked, and everyone met in the middle to shake hands and help unload the cargo.

 No one spoke: what was happening here was off the books; deep black, and unspeakable on even long after the fact. Treason usually was. These soldiers sold themselves to the highest bidder more times than they could count; this time the highest bidder had strict conditions that had to be met. The timetable for completion one of them, so they went about their work efficiently. 

 The giants among the group, none under 6’4”, were the C-17 passengers, ten in total, split between Navy SEALS and members of the Marine Corps Scout Snipers. The Plan B to their tip-of-spear-operator. They were here because that operator had ostensibly failed. Presumably dead. These brothers-in-arms mourned his death, but openly embraced the cleared field of battle; their chance at the glory.

 Gear stowed in the Hummers, the paint removed from the plane’s serial number, the base forces shook hands again with these soldiers of fortune. Their commander handed off a duffle bag to the head of base security, nodding his assent. Inside was the $25 million payment for their aid.

 The plane taxied from the hanger and took off unimpeded, retracing radar steps to mask the in-flight diversion it took, with long distance help from others who’ve already been paid off for doing so. The convoy was waved out on its way soon after, loaded to bursting.

 Timetable: check

 Forty-eight hours to go.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	24. All This, and Heaven Too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very Dominion-fandom heavy chapter.

**_Dawn_ **

**_Countdown: Day 2 of 3  
_ **

**_4:00am_ **

38 hours to go.

 Malcolm Graham only knew the time because his life depended on it. He’d religiously—a hyperbole that made his blood boil now—kept track since his bastard ‘savior’ had left him here to rot, spouting doomsday prophecies Malcolm might not have previously believed in if he hadn’t been snatched from the bowels of Hell to play Reaper on that domain’s wayward leader.

 Didn’t know what kind of day it was out there, no windows, no light, artificial or otherwise. With summer still beating down and the drought squeezing out every drop of life it could, it was probably a beautiful hellishly hot one.

 Some kind of irony that the Devil would choose the City of Angels to hide out in very plain sight. Either he wasn’t the big bad history had made him out to be, or he was…and this was sticking it to the Man in a big way. Graham could dig that, even briefly considered telling Amenadiel to get his piss boy elsewhere because he was hitching his wagon to the Big Gravy Train. Getting in with the second biggest head honcho could be leveraged a hell of a lot better than killing him, which might get him in good with the Big Guy, but let’s face it, Graham would never see that Light and all its goodies-- he was destined for the slow elevator ride down.

 But then he got to thinking...about Dan, and Chloe, what Palmetto meant to him and them, besides the turning points in all their careers and lives. Sure got the scummy end of that lollipop: coma, death, layover in Hell, a proposition to kill the Devil and get to live on, damned, sure, but still. Dan got to experience what it was like to be the good guy gone bad, the downfall of his own ex, a pariah in sheep’s clothing, and then Graham’s very own piss boy when he made it clear he and Dan were in this all the way, Chloe got to know her own personal Hell, marked for a good portion of her career the cop who turned on her own.

 It was all sweet. Sweet like the life he gorged on in this second chance. A second chance he desperately wanted to hold on to—even by putting a bullet in the Devil’s brain. So much for that.

 He tugged emphatically on his cuffs, getting the same as before: nowhere.

 To think...an angel fucked him over; Christ, but if his perception of reality wasn’t already skewed, he’d be more than tempted to give up. Add in that very angel sounding pretty damn sure that God himself had thrown in the towel and was readying the big guns for wide-dispersal- fire-for-effect mayhem…

 It wasn’t that he’d never believed before…it was confronting it all at once, now, like this, that had him so ready to explode.

 Malcolm Graham snarled a spit laced diatribe to the emptiness, rattling his binds and bucking and tossing against them until his arms and elbows gave in under the abuse. No. He wasn’t going to give up. That’s what Amenadiel wanted—admitted it, flat out. Even when his body did fail, which it would sooner rather than later, he was already feeling the effects of dehydration, his stomach growling loudly in reminder too, his mind, he swore, would remain sharply intact. Nothing he’d do would deviate from get free, kill Lucifer, kill Amenadiel, and take his chances in the new world order a faithless God would create. Something told him he’d fit in just fine. The cockroaches always survived.

He smiled at his prison walls, a belly full of laughter slowly crescendoing into a hysterical cackle as he remembered a particularly prescient, old line of hope and renewals.

  _The meek shall inherit the Earth._

 Not with the hell he’d raise.

 

* * *

 

_**Same time...** _

He checked the sun’s rise over the realms. A new day born. Gabriel turned his back on the prescient spectacle, hood covering head, to carry on his way.

 He knew what it was like to be homeless. In Vega, heaven was closed to them. From the outer spheres, a barren lightless place where lower angels were cast down to and stranded, to the upper spheres closest to Father, a great impenetrable gate was shut in their faces by God’s desertion. He recreated what he could of his aerie on Earth. Michael remade his entirely. Uriel stayed with Gabriel, his closest to his younger brother’s in aesthetics. Reimagined the familial commune atmosphere with his 8-balls and acolytes. Poor substitutes, one and all.

 He lost that earthly home in the bombing that also killed Uriel, another pox on his family. The resulting escalation from the wayward journeying of the Chosen One, Alex Lannon, on a bid to gather an army to back his final assault against The Heart, otherwise known to them as the destroyer of humanity, encouraged a necessarily prudent meet up with Michael. Though weary from his own trials, he made, Gabriel found and hoped it was mutual, the hollowness of the reunion not as resounding as it should have been.  The Twins were back together, if tenuously. Tracking Alex to New Delphi, the city in the cradle of humanity where angels and humans lived together, one run by an angel from their past with a deadly grudge, became a torture neither angel could have endured if they weren’t together. Even when their reunion subsequently led to Gabriel’s infestation of the Void.

 He didn’t think of it in that way, not since Vega ended. The choice would always be Michael, Vega or not. Good, bad, ugly, the price of his twin was always payable, even when said twin swore he would never forgive Gabriel for it.

 Vega had something, however, that this reality didn’t: a home to come back to with no twin waiting. He wouldn’t say it was all on Michael—Gabriel hadn’t touched upon their bonding’s link in some time, either. If he didn’t, however, Michael did. Michael hadn’t. Not since Gabriel first made the journey to the realms for Andre. As he left, Michael made it a point to ask him if it was wise to tempt a fate that was obviously for a reason, and all he could say was he had to try.

 For the first time, he’d come to see, he hadn’t chosen his brother. When Michael needed to be protected and supported, Gabriel chose Andre over him. Now Miryam had made her choice, a choice that sacrificed much for so little, and unmoored Gabriel even worse off than before.

 In such a state of turmoil, the Void seething behind its walls, his mindset was too black to see clearly. The thirst to hurt something was a kind of poison on his tongue, sour and cruel. New Delphi was inside him, that kind of evil too rich, too pure. He needed the Light. He needed to go home.

 Confronted by this hopelessness in options, he instead wandered the ether post Miryam rejection in an attempt to find balance in his heart. It didn’t work. Again faced with dwindling paths, his circumstances forced the badly dealt hand. He’d have to go home and simply hope its influence, not the bad memories, would be a sufficient balm.

 His wings just managed to carry him through the threshold of Heaven, on autopilot until his boots made the balcony outside Uriel’s inner sanctum. “Uri?” He rasped, lowering his hood to disjointedly search the domed library. Even away, Uriel’s presence perfumed the room with the Light’s purifying charge. “Uri?”

 He stumbled over a plate of manna and fruit, eyes focusing sluggishly on the spread of scroll beyond the food, skirting another step to save from spilling a half filled goblet of wine over the precious messages.

 His head pounded under a steadily intensifying drum beat, the Void’s anxiety at the Light’s nearness turning the pressure behind his eyeballs all the way up to excruciating. Gripping his head, white knuckled, he choked out a demand for it to stop.

 Heedless, the Void smashed its shields head on, skittering over their surfaces to spit on his misery. _Miryam should have shot you,_ it said, _right through the heart, watch that quivering muscle explode…let her live to regret it while you—you could have had true power for the first time in your miserable existence…_

 “No!” he cried out in vehement disagreement, “Just making a point…!”

  _No point made…you failed. Again. You need me, Gabriel. You need me to be what you were meant to be—the power behind the Throne._

 He twisted and turned in a rapid bid to outrun Its swirling through him. Caught in a trap, he wished death, or even worse pain, to countermand the draw. Empyrean steel to the heart…head, a whip lashing his flesh, all preferable to this. There was no relief, just bitterness emptiness.

 The mental shields holding the Void in check flickered under this perilous assault of crippling self-doubt and incrimination. Gabriel screamed as he had when the Void first possessed him, with abandon, staggering under the overtaking, a losing battle of will.

 His shoulder blades and hidden wing joints suddenly immolated under a blindsiding jackhammer blow. Nerve endings and pain receptors instantly overloaded, jellifying his limbs. Gabriel fell gracelessly, blacking out mid fall.

 Heavy footsteps arrived at the body. Rafael crouched, cracking bruised knuckles contemplatively, to apologize. “Sorry, bruv.”

 As Healer, he was intimately aware of what hurt angels the most. The wing joints and their shoulder mounts were insanely, almost criminally, sensitive. A well placed jolt there flooded the body’s neurological faculties, shorting out, sort to speak, the ability to handle and compartmentalize pain.

 Rafael smiled faintly: as he liked to put it, a crude rewiring job.

 He came upon his brother in trouble with he’d return from escorting Uriel to Michael’s aerie, the stench of the Void poignantly recognizable on him. With, regrettably, his petty need for retribution on Uriel’s behalf for Gabriel’s treatment of him on Earth the day before as much as the overriding impetus to protect and defend his brothers directing his hand, that rewiring was exceptionally required.

 He couldn’t have the Messenger impeding the Light. Not when he was making the negotiation of their lifetimes.

 “Believe me,” he murmured, reaching out around him to gather pillows to make Gabriel as comfortable as possible, “You’re going to wanna be out for this…”

 

* * *

 

 The night before was Michael’s longest. Not even New Delphi and its tortures were so taxing. He was riveted to stay, watch his miseries and downfall unfold outside his reach.

 Lucifer had told the human detective everything—his tongue so uncharacteristically loosened to truths Michael briefly thought Father had been right about him: that he was changing for the better, his soul lightening its considerable load. For two hours, Lucifer’s stream of conscious put the human, Detective Daniel Espinoza, in the precarious position of knowing too much for a mortal not of Chosen status, yet comprehending so little he still remained abreast of a true threat to the balance. Lucky for all not even Lucifer, especially not even Lucifer, knew the whole of it.

 They drank together as Michael and Gabriel once did, before Paradise Falls: as partners. Espinoza stared, dumbfounded by a speech that could be a confession, though Michael knew Lucifer would never see it as such, while a Chosen One sat there and allowed it to happen. Andre’s complicity above all else satisfied him Father was indeed wrong about the Fallen Son, after all. Lucifer still enjoyed inflicting suffering, his words his greatest weapons, his action—his **_in_** action—a tactician’s master stroke.

 That Chosen One. Gabriel’s. A turncoat too, putty in the Devil’s hands. How unfair could it be that Gabriel’s Chosen One still responded to the bonds of an angel he swore he hated, while Miryam could ignore every poke and prod and prolonged plea on hers without once speaking her hatred? Did she even hate him? Or did she hate the idea of him, his betrayal…his lusting after someone other than her? Was it just mortal jealously that drove them apart?

 Michael saw the worth of such questions not long afterward. Them together, a human dead, and another increasingly sucked into this unnatural orbit. There was nothing left to be done when the Heart and the Sword might as well be immortal enemies instead of blood brothers. Nothing. He had...nothing. Michael grappled more with this realization, the loneliness of it, than any obstacle Vega ever made him topple, gaining Alex Lannon’s trust and loyalty included. Where the bonded link to his brother used to be in his mind and soul, now the raw outline of a cauterized wound. Bottomless, bloodless, quiet. Gabriel could be dead. He wouldn’t know. Not unless Heaven fell. Damned be that day, it wouldn’t be Gabriel’s doing. They’d lost a brother before and survived. And the Son of Morning was a better angel, a better brother, than the one the Heart became, for having the good graces to make his heartbreak a clean break, and not this endless ripping on the very essence of their family.

 He was ready to fight this battle. His swords were sharpened and singing in their scabbards for him to make the waters of the earth run red for this betrayal.

 He stumbled on the one uncertainty in the grand scheme of this orchestrated rebellion of Gabriel’s: what was Father’s plan in all this? What did He want?

 The demoralizing pity of this whole bloody thing was Gabriel always knew the answer to that question. Michael never did. Not until the deed was done, did he know he was his Father’s Wrath. His Flood. Not until he slaughtered millions, did his role crystalize. And then was punished for seeing himself as he truly was: a murderer with wings. No angel. No Prince. No son who was only good when obedient.

 This conditioning stood out in his mind as to why Vega worked so well. Beneath the adoration and consuming loyalty to one another, Michael must have secretly hated Gabriel for being right about the bloodlust ruling him. Despised Gabriel for being the Son Father wanted, while he…just the Son Father needed. And that secret hatred grew, it must have, with the stoking of its coals in Vega. Ate at him from the inside out until now, when Gabriel was in decline. Michael would grab his laurels. Be the Son Father Wanted. Beyond that, he was in the dark as he always was, but then Father liked creativity, and most certainly appreciated gumption. He would make it work; make Gabriel come to heel.

 In this manic reasoning he’d taken a better part of the night to come to terms with, Michael had conveniently or just irrationally forgotten how being the Son Father wanted had gotten Gabriel into trouble at Paradise Falls; how Father used him as He used all of them for bigger and bolder ends. Pawns to the last. In Michael’s mind, so tired and warped by the exhaustion that he merely recognized the etchings of reality that he wanted to believe in at the moment, the only pawns were everyone else. He was the truth of the matter, ready to show the universe--his Father—just how right he was.

 “Archangel Michael.” The interruption was cautious. He broke thought to half tilt his head at the offending Seraphim without looking at him.

 “What.” _Whut._ The accent as unmistakable. Like a drop of water in a bucket. The ring of a deeper cultured voice outside Michael’s usual set the Seraph back a pointed step. The rounded tones accentuating the word was more Vega and less home reality peeking out to stay. The physical changes were already manifested, completing the transformation.

 “Your brother, Archangel Uriel, wishes to speak to you.”

 He’d sat cross-legged on his bed all night for his rigorous meditation. Unwound his long legs now, stiffly stretching to stand and pull on his favored black hoodie, making the Seraph wait uncomfortably through his silence.

 “And you told him of my wishes for seclusion?”

 “I did, Archangel. He is insistent. He’s here about your twin…sir.” This angel was careful not to speak Gabriel’s name. Nothing set Michael on edge more these days than hearing his brother’s name.

 Michael paused at securing his blades on his hips, lips parting as his eyes narrowed at the timing for a visit from the Light. “Is he.”

 The Light would be useful to have on his side in this, and surely, if he was coming now, no doubt from witnessing Gabriel’s atrocious behavior and wanton acts against a Chosen One, it had to be to cast a line in Michael’s pool. Uriel could be trusted for such sensitivities. Even in Vega, they were there. Though there, Gabriel took Uriel. Here, the tables were turning even faster. Michael would be on the winning side, including having Uriel’s aid for himself.

 He latched his blades to his hips decisively, mind made up. “Send him in."

* * *

 

 Rafael had asked of him, earlier the day before, what his plan was. Twelve hours later, it was no better and Rafael was no less vehemently against it. But then Rafael was only seeing Uriel’s part in it, consumed by the notion that if this was indeed Vega 2.0, his twin would die just as easily and just as horribly for the same reasons as the first. Call it a gut hunch, the likes of which the Healer couldn’t shake, and decided he didn’t want to. Father was on a rampage none of them could justify except for Vega’s failure hitting harder than even He deemed feasible.

 “But that’s not an excuse,” Rafael had bellowed across Uriel’s aerie, making his brother flinched for the hundredth time as he took in the fresh early morning air, sweetly loitering in the thermals, awaiting a rising sun to warm them deliciously muggy, “To walk into Michael’s aerie alone!”

 “What do you want to do, then?” He’d snapped back, “Walk in there with me and beat him into submission? Because we went over that, remember? It doesn’t work!”

 “Ha! So you say. Though I happen to recall a little episode where you did beat him into submission and he did capitulate!”

 Uriel had angrily turned on him, far too exhausted to be rehashing such old memories at a time like this. “Enough. I’m going.”  
Against his bullheaded judgement, Rafael let him go. Not, however, without first escorting him into Michael’s aerie territory, murderously glaring down any waspish Seraphim intent on stopping the excursion.

 Uriel was presently alone at the aerie’s gilded entrance, since given Rafael a firm pat on the arm and a sternly spoken, “Go—I’ll handle it now.” to send him on his way.

 The Seraphim appeared less concerned about his presence, and more about their Archangel’s arrival. Uriel observed their apprehension with great interest, and plummeting spirits. Michael must be regressing if those born and trained to serve him were ready to bolt. Would the Sword even see the Light? Would he be recognizable to his little brother?

 He was bid entry by the squirrely Seraph whose response to Uriel’s request for audience had nearly become tearful. He walked into a vision of Vega on its more peaceful days, when Alex Lannon was just coming into his own as the Chosen One and still trusted Michael. In the early morning dusk, the flickering candle light off the silky black cream sheets on the token circular bed cast tricky shadows on the scarlet and golden hued walls.

 Michael was beyond the room at its far open wall, overlooking the sky and sphere below. His tall thinly angular build cut sharply through the pale darkness, broad shoulders and chest slimming down to narrow hips and flat ribbed stomach, while muscular arms bunched in a brooding rumination as his hands came together in the small of his back. Just like Gabriel. Uriel took the long way around the bed to continue the observation, senses prickling as soon as Michael picked up his presence and made no move to acknowledge.

 He noted the Vega garb: all black leather and harsh metallic embellishments, swords hanging ubiquitously like other human men once wore their pistols. His hood was up, swallowing head and blocking features as Uriel finished his route to come upon him at a diagonal.

 His stillness…that was not Vega’s doing. Michael was eternally still, calculating, ever patient if he wasn’t amidst the storm of his duties; the calm in the eye of a hurricane, the likes Father threw at will at His Precious Creation. But Vega did increase its painstaking acuteness.

 Uriel had the answer to at least one of his heart’s questions about this meeting: he didn’t recognize his older brother.

 “Michael.”

 The name pierced the shroud of the figure before him, shifting the sands of reality in some sort of proper order to garner a response.

 “Uriel.”

 The Light pushed this freshly laden boundary, standing beside his brother, taking in the dawn.

 “Thank you for seeing me.”

 “Thank you for coming.”

 Uriel looked at him for that response, “Really? I was under the impression you didn’t want to see anyone.”

 “I always want to see you.” Michael suddenly returned his gaze, lowering the hood too.

 Uriel drew back, modulating his expression to not show his shock, choosing a vaguely meaningful, “I see.”

 Gone was the Michael of Paradise Falls, the Michael they’d known since his creation as Gabriel’s own golden half: the closely cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes, much the same as Uriel’s own. Replacing those were equally familiar and darkly handsome impish looks. This was the face he’d chosen to wear as a symbol of willful distancing when he was ordered to Vega; a gift solely possessed by Archangel to change body and appearance for the task at hand. Uriel himself had used it in Vega to assume a Divine Feminine form, as ordered by Father. For him, personally, it was just further humiliation he sought to forget.

 Michael’s second face was eerily close to Gabriel’s: the same intense eyes, slipping between Rafael’s richly brown coloration to ebony depending on mood and lighting, the same expressiveness across high cheek bones and full lips, and the same messy hair, carelessly mussed over the crown of his head.

 Uriel should have recognized this change from his voice, the clipped polished tones of old morphed to a slower deeper husk.

 “Now, what can I do for you, little brother?”

 “You know why I am here.”

 Michael’s rolling swagger, another remnant from Gabriel, drew Uriel with him as he went to pour wine for them. “Gabriel.” The sinister breath he drew and exhaled to say the name chilled Uriel. “Indeed. Then I am doubly interested in your visit, Little One.”

 “I know you saw what he did yesterday, with Miryam.”

 Michael casually handed off a full goblet to Uriel, emotionally closed off in his agreement. “I did.”

 “I don’t agree with it. I must say that now, before we continue this meeting.”

 Something about that statement pleased Michael, and he gave an enigmatic smile, one Uriel remembered well from Vega. “And I am glad to hear you say that. Loyalty…like that…is at a premium, it seems.”

 “But I also remind you I disagree with this whole estrangement. I am for this family, no one member, to be victorious. To come together whole once more, that’s what I want.”

 Michael regarded him closely, “And I expected nothing less from you. No worries, Uriel, I know your feelings well.”

 “So I may speak freely? As a neutral party?”

Michael gestured for him to do so, strutting to the open wall once more, content to listen but not look while Uriel leaped, sipping his wine absently.

 “I don’t blame Gabriel as you do. Granted, he was violent with me…and made me question my motives in trying to fix this chasm we have here. How he is reacting…how Miryam is reacting, I would think an angel such as yourself, Michael, would understand loss and grief well enough to see both are hurting, seeking shelter in each other…because they’ve lost you.”

 “So his…lust? For my Chosen One, it’s my fault?”

 The sardonic echo in the question was as Uriel expected. “You made this possible, Michael, because of how you and Gabriel are bonded: it’s better for her to have one, than not have both. How else should she respond when her loyalty in you was so mislaid?”

 “You are speaking freely…aren’t you?” He showed enough face for Uriel to see the sneer.

 “You assured me I could.”

 The sneer lapsed, and he turned away. “Go on.”

 “Recall your many, many midnight rendezvous with Miryam in the Sidhe, Michael. Recall the lessons learned there.”

 Uriel was aware that Michael and Miryam did more in the Sidhe together than just bond and train. While Miryam could safely proclaim Virgin Queen status, she knew more about arousal and angelic anatomy than any human ought to. Michael did that.

 “That was innocent.” He pronounced loudly. “She was curious. A young human woman’s healthy curiosity about her body and sexuality. Nothing more.”

 “Look at the damage your allowance for her to love you like that has reaped! Not innocence, to be sure! She fell for you as you did for her, yet you denied all else, the emotional and mental response to love and commitment, when you realized your mistake. But once in Vega all that ceased to matter, and became a double standard? I leave it to you to realize why she seeks Gabriel, besides his protection and connection to you: he loves her as you never allowed yourself to. Yes. This **_is_** your fault.”

 “So how do I fix it.” The goblet dangled from his hand by just two fingers pinching either side of the rim as he callously made it sound like Uriel was merely dictating an object in need of mending.

 Uriel lifted his chin to reply in a similar arch tone, imperiously considering the back of the creature calling itself his brother. “You can’t. It’s merely a symptom of a larger problem.”

 “Ah.” murmured the Sword, “Here it tis. Gabriel.”

 “Yes: Gabriel. And you. Us. Father. This whole…Vega conspiracy.”

 “Not much of a conspiracy.” Michael leisurely turned to his brother, far less conversationally whispering, “I see the fear in your eyes every time you think or hear of Vega—it’s as real to you as is to me.”

 Uriel swallowed at the point blank observation, looking off from the accusation there as his head of steam briefly floundered. “I don’t disagree with that either. But fear is good, gives perspective. Let’s discuss our perspectives. Vega gave us many.”

 Michael whimsically agreed, lifting his shoulders in a faux tremulous shrug. He faced his youngest sibling head on, more as a challenger than a willing conversationalist. “By all means.” He contorted his mouth to spit out. “Let’s discuss it.”

 Uriel lowered his chin as a bull lowered its horns at a flashing red cape, alarm bells blaring to avoid but the lure of the hunt, this hunt for answers and closure, salivating.

 “Did you ever wonder why Father allowed Gabriel to keep the Void inside him as he does? Why He didn’t just absolve him of the Darkness once Vega was at its end?”

“Because Vega is not over.”

 That answer was too quick to be a mere jab in the dark. Michael must have thought about it every day. Uriel had to smirk. “Your complexes are showing, brother.”

 Michael smirked back. “So are yours.” He jutted his chin out as a sign for more, “Go on. Tell me why.”

 “One more logic query for you, and I will. Do you wonder why Father allows Lucifer to live on as he does, flaunting his disobedience, free of his duties in place of new ones that…frankly… frighten me? Mortality and morality are not good looks for our eldest, that we can agree on?”

 “Absolutely.”

 “So why does He allow it? Why is Lucifer, out of all of us, given the opportunity to command so many Chosen Ones?”

Michael’s eyes had grown entirely too bright; Uriel was pushing all the right buttons so far. “My questions exactly. What is His plan?” He stepped into Uriel’s space, circling him with predatory interest. “Do you know?” The prodding question was heady and hopeful, to the point Uriel smelled the ulterior motive in it, his nostrils flaring on the treacherous scent. “I think I do.” He cast his line precariously short, just in case.

 “Well,” Michael came up behind him. Uriel tensed, frantically wondering how Damien could have been so right about his brother’s intentions?! A clamping hand seared his trapezius, twinging several cords of neck muscle under its pinch. Uriel clenched eyes shut to wait for it, whatever ‘it’ was, to hit.

 “Tell me then, Uriel. And stop this dancing. I have no stomach for it.”

 Only words, not steel…Uriel opened his eye in relief, not showing too much of it to Michael, whose immediate presence remained menacingly spectral.

 “I am fairly certain,” he began carefully, feeling out each word as it left his tongue, “Father is remaking the old fractures. A new Fall, if you will, to study our reaction this time around. You versus Gabriel versus Lucifer. The catalyst is Vega, his weapons our Chosen Ones and the Void. His decision, I fear, will fundamentally change the course of human history and the universe, should we fail his intentions. Whatever they may be.”

 He immediately sensed Michael’s recoil. He hadn’t expected such an answer.

 “This you’re fairly certain of?”

 “As certain as I can be, with what I have at my disposal.”

 Since that was all of Father’s thoughts and wisdom, Michael was sufficiently bowed by that.

 “Not what you expected.” Uriel stated after a moment of silence.

 “Not quite.”

 “You wanted it to be Gabriel’s fault.”

 “Would be easier, would it not?”

 “For you and your entirely shortsighted hatred of your own twin, certainly.”

 “Your solution.”

 Uriel turned on him this time, the sparkling sapphires in his irises lighting the way, “Shouldn’t that be obvious, if the easy path is hating and blaming Gabriel?”

 Michael rigidly considered the riddle. “…Forgive Gabriel? That. Is your solution.”

 “You are each other’s halves. It is inconceivable both of you could remain so deeply at odds for so long and not face grievous consequences. Whatever Vega has done to us, it’s time to move on. Forgive him…come together with Lucifer for an understanding about our Chosen Ones. End this. By showing Father we are our own when it comes to family. Make Him respect us again. Michael. Only you can do that.”

 “What if I disagree with you?” That reply came too quickly as well. How much languishing had Michael done on this subject? And still not seen the answer Uriel did.

 “I can’t force you to believe. But I would say the facts support my theory better than your emotional responses.”  That feeling of impending doom returned, strung between them and beating Uriel’s heart faster. “From now until this over, however it ends, I will believe this: you are the source of our problem as much as the solution. I beseech you, for the sake of our family, do what must be done.”

 Michael’s body went lax, loose and pliable to his volatility. Dangerous in a way the Flood wasn’t, in its blindness. “I will…” His surety was not Uriel’s, not by a long shot. “Do what must be done. And I see now, I cannot count on your support.”

 Uriel gulped, hiding the act with a dip of his head in circumspect disapproval, “Of course not. You yourself said you understood that when we began.”

 “Well.” Michael was magnanimously shallow, “Who am I to know a truth? When this family is built on deceit and deception.”

  “I did not deceive you.”

 The Sword loomed, a malevolent shade of the violet and pink dawn. “I wish you had. Get out.”

* * *

 

 The confrontation shook both to the fiber of their beings. Neither won any ground. Michael would forever lose without Gabriel; Uriel, the representative of the family and the Chosen Ones, sorely lost when sound logic proved too weak to sway the new Beast on their doorstep. It was difficult game of give and take that would eventually push one side into the abyss.

 The Void, impossible dreams with Miryam, shadowing Andre, freely killing humans without remorse again, Gabriel’s orbit around this abyss was caving in. He awoke from under Rafael’s ‘rewiring job’ to an agitated and apologetic Healer, whose attempts at explanation merely rose to argument as Gabriel slowly digested what he’d allowed Uriel to do. While Rafael’s intentions to keep him in the dark long enough to give the youngest twin a chance ultimately saved his life—one life--- it poorly doomed the rest. And the Messenger couldn’t abide by that.

 Especially with the Void’s fumes still percolating in his soul. His mood was foul and could not be improved no matter how loud he bellowed or how crude and vulgar Rafael got in his verbal jousting. He knew they were being overheard; Rafael probably sensed his brother’s return. Each were so committed to their view of the problem in Uriel facing Michael alone, a tendency towards casting blame first asking questions later inherent to their family, they just hammered away. Until that particular third voice crossed the mutual lines in the sand both Rafael and Gabriel were carving in their prospective sandboxes. Then they shut up, turning in unison to find Uriel staring.

 He’d seen Rafael and Gabriel at each other throats' over him. If his drawn pallor was any indication, the meet up with Michael had accomlished nothing, as Gabriel insisted it would, so arguing the case was pointless and only adding another layer of distastefulness to the morning.

 Nevertheless Uriel unexpectedly beamed…at Gabriel, of all things. “Gabriel, you’re home!”

 Aching and withdrawn, the Messenger had seen better days, but Uriel didn’t seem to care. Nor did he care when Gabriel apologized for his behavior at the escort club, for even thinking about hurting him. Forgot the whole nasty affair in the time it took to meet in the middle of his library for a fiercely appreciative hug, Gabriel’s solidifying around him with brazenly protective strength.

 “You stupid little fool! Bloody hell do you think you’re doing going up against Michael alone?!”

 “I only spoke to him.”

 “And you only spoke to me too—I nearly broke your neck.”

 “Not quite,” Rafael cut in dryly, clearly still of opposite feeling towards their oldest.

 “Point being, Michael is no better than I am, and he could do much worse.” He dragged Uriel to arm’s length, cupping his face to force will upon those big eyes peering back into his bloodshot ones with open trust and relief, “Never again, do you hear me? Never again will you face him alone—if you must at all, you bring us with you.” He tsked, their next embrace easy and playful, “You…the smartest idiot I know.”

 “…He wasn’t exactly in a position to help you, anyway, Uri.” Rafael spoke up again. Uriel left his brother’s arms to clean up the place; a whirlwind looked to have swept through in his absence.

 “…No…by the looks of the place, you certainly managed that well, didn’t you?”

 “I do believe he’s blaming you,” Gabriel added rather snidely, rubbing the crest of his nose in fatigue.

 “I think he bloody is. Listen here--!”

 The Messenger saved him the trouble, however, “It wasn’t his fault. I came back…unsuitable for home’s salvation, to put it mildly.”

 Uriel stopped his heavy-handed cleaning, blinking with that openness of discovery he did so well. The pillows he carried dropped from hand as he turned to stare fully upon this new face of the Darkness. Seeing it for the first time, wretchedly drawn in coarse lines of wear and tear, the gaunt shadows. He gaped at this discovery with horror. “Gabriel…”

 Rushing their eldest again, brusquely, for him at least, taking Gabriel’s chin to examine this shell he’d become. “Good Father, you do look terrible. Rafael, can’t you do something?”

 “Besides sucker punching him again?” Rafael shrugged, “Nah.”

 Gabriel chuckled, patting the hand away, “Not even Father could help me. I alright now…I promise.”

 “But you won’t be. It—It can’t last!”

 Gabriel stripped down to just shirt and pants, shrugging off the discarded articles and sword along with the weight of the day before. Coming upon Uriel’s fountain of holy water, he dipped a greedy hand into is depths to splash his face, rejoicing in its cool crisp dribble down grubby cheeks. He next cleansed his thick, greasy helmet of hair with a good shoulder length plunge, spluttering through a dog-eared shakeout when he resurfaced. He straightened his waterlogged leaning, sucking on his upper lip for the droplets still there. “I know it can’t. It’s getting worse. Very soon, I am going to lose control.”

 “Then you’ll die…Gabe.” Uriel shook his head in despairing awe, “There’s no other end.”

 The Messenger was amused at the prospect, “Would that be so bad?”

 Rafael glared over Uriel’s head at the thoughtlessness of the question. Uriel was young in soul, the bright-eyed optimist of the line. He would go to the ends of Father’s knowledge and then his own, before admitting defeat: for a brother’s life, he would die too if such attempts failed. That’s why Rafael was so against his efforts here. Both these beloved older brothers would be the death of him.

 “Don’t say that!” True to form, Uriel denied the morbid thought. “Don’t ever…ever say that again. I couldn’t bare it. Miryam couldn’t bare it. Andre…for his all his pigheadedness, which is entirely our doing, he couldn’t bare it either.”

 “You didn’t say Michael’s name, did you.”

 “Gabriel!”

 “What, Raffi? Don’t look at me like that, Uriel knows.”

 He was a reflection of the twisted Archangel Uriel had just come from, except much gentler in the face and the eyes and in the way he gripped the meat of his shoulder. “Uriel,” he softly implored, “I am at peace…with this. But I cannot be, if I know you and Rafael are in danger because of what Michael and I have done to one another. I need you to swear to me, you will leave this alone.”

 Uriel swallowed, wilting under Gabriel’s will, “I can’t. My Chosen One is at stake. He’s the only one I can fight for, outside of you all. Let me have at least that much to hang on to?” He shrugged listlessly, “I—I went to Michael to appeal to whatever empathy he has left. That terrible curse Father gave him: at last he’s lost it, a great tragedy for us all too. If he had any left, this would be over now.”

  “Let that be a lesson, Light. The Sword will not be tempered. He wants blood. The Heart can supply that.”

 Uriel’s next refusal to listen to such things was cut off by a loud commotion outside his doors. Rafael moved to investigate. Gabriel held him up—protecting the young ones had always been his job. Between Lucifer’s descent or Michael’s rages, he stood between calamity and his family.

 The massive doors were suddenly taken off their hinges as the collective weight of Uriel’s Guard slammed into them. They sprawled inward in bloody disarray, wings tangling, some crushed to matted pulp. Uriel gasped, “No!” Rafael forcibly yanked the youngest behind him as he unfolded his own wings for cover.

 Michael coldly hovered over the pile. Gabriel unflinchingly returned his stare.

 Another instance of the home reality mimicking Vega’s. They were in the same position as they were at that play’s end, except, as with all this strife at hand, the roles were reversed. Michael the cruel antagonist, Gabriel the weary hero. The Twins reunited. Somewhere in there, Lucifer would stand, but one thing at a time…

 “Locked doors and guards, Uriel? And here you said you weren’t taking sides.”

 “What are you doing, Michael?! Those are brother angels!”

 Gabriel maneuvered into a matching hover, studiously ignoring his own blade’s position by the fountain, painfully out of reach. “Leave them alone. This is between us.”

 Michael studied him as one studied a fascinating bug. His transformation was not lost on the Heart, not when the face staring back was one he’d spent twenty-five years yearning to forget to love.

 “It takes a strong stomach to come back to a place where you are unwanted.”

 Gabriel raised his hands, deciding in that moment he would play on the fact he was unarmed. One of his lousier plans, it turned out…“I am unarmed. I didn’t come here to fight you. Nor you me, I should think. Time and place for everything, right?”

 Michael’s lips formed a brittle sneering line, “Are you sure about that?” He drew back, an ascendant avenger, “I’m going to make them watch you bleed.”

 The Heart twisted mid-air to yell at his younger brothers to go. Michael took a tremendous lunge forward, spearing Gabriel around the middle. They connected solidly, driving to the ground together and cratering floor on impact.

 Gabriel luckily had the forethought to fold his wings before hitting, cutting down on the whitehot flash of pain ripped head to toe through already sheared muscle. Curse Rafael and his one-shots of brilliance…

 Hauled up indelicately by the neck, suspended by a clenched fist trying to tear his throat open, Gabriel prayed for a second wind. Not to fight back, however. He couldn’t. As much as he could mentally hear Rafael and Uriel screaming at him to do so, he was already decided upon a path of least resistance. A punching bag needed a little of that to be of any use. That was, of course, if Michael didn’t actually kill him out right. At Flood capacity now, his ugliest, the Sword was apt to do just that.

 Instead, he mauled Gabriel with a barrage of piston style punches, releasing him on the last to watch his brother sail into a wall of books, taking the shelving down on top of himself.

 “Just going to take it, are you?!”

 “Michael, that is enough!”

 He spun on the two youngest, Rafael restraining Uriel as much as protecting him at this point. “What did you say, Uriel?”

 “Enough! Enough hurting each other!”

 Michael considered this, them, and then Gabriel, grunting as he worked to unload the mass of old books and bound parchment scrolls off of him. Michael’s beating on him freely spilled down his face to shirt front.

 “No,” he decided finally, savagely zeroing in on the other two. “You’re not going to take it, Gabriel. I will make you fight me.”

 Gabriel’s head snapped up at his tone, vaguely grating and sinister. The Void lurched inside him, its smoldering ashes coalescing. Michael wouldn’t, he couldn’t...

  _Oh,_ the Void sniffed, _He could. That’s not your Michael anymore, Gabriel. He’s the Flood. And he’s going to kill everything you love if you don’t stop him. Make me proud? For once._

His wings beat free of his back once to carry him from the debris pile, and then again to plummet directly in front of the youngers. Spreading them to full length, the glossy black feathers cinched to fill in their gaps to turn bullet proof and somewhat swordproof. Rafael and Uriel held on to each other, wildeyed at this unfathomable turn of events.

 “Don’t you dare…touch them.” He shook under the outrageousness of it, teeth gritted to a deathly quiet snarl.

 Michael laughed, “You have become a paladin, haven’t you?”

 “You want to hurt someone? Hurt me! It’s me, Michael, isn’t it? I’m the one you want! Hit me! I can take it. But let them go.”

 “No. They are going to watch. This a lesson in loyalty, fealty, and family…you’ve all seem to have forgotten.”

 “They don’t have to see this!”

 “They’ve seen everything else! Heard everything else! They’ve made their choice.”

 “Gabriel, he’s mad, you can’t reason with him.”

 “Rafael,’ Gabriel was calm even as the glint in his twin’s eye became unfocused and flinty, “Take yourself and your brother out of here. Don’t come back until I call you.”

 Michael smiled slowly, “If…you call them. I will,” he assured him with a snake’s charm, “if you’re unable.” The threat churned Gabriel’s stomach, stirring the Void. “Why are you doing this, Michael?” The words tore from the back of his throat hoarse. “Even as the Flood, you were never this cruel, this--.”

 “What else should I be, when my Heart draws blood with every step he takes.”

 Michael pounced on Gabriel. They mercilessly wrestled to Uriel’s fountain, where Michael hauled his wounded twin over the stairs and lip of its base, to shove his head underwater.

 Before Michael completely drowned him, he pulled him to the surface to flip him on his back, wringing his shirt around his neck for purchase until its collar ripped. Gabriel fought air down, violently trembling from his own rage and the shock of the assault. Red blood ran pink, tainting the holy water as it drained from his face and nose. Michael was inches away, teeth bared. One blade remained sheathed, the other’s tip hovered over a heaving stomach, gripped like a dagger ready to plunge. His voice was down to its basest form of hissing growl, too much in the way to go any higher.

 “You put your filthy hands on her.”

 So that’s what this boiled down to. Gabriel laughed, shoving the sound up from deep within, in disbelief. “Bloody hell, is that what you’re on about? Jealously. Christ, brother….”

 “You don’t deny it!”

 Gabriel licked his lips as the tip of the sword dug in. “Hell no.” He brought himself even closer, bearing the pinch of nicking steel. Because now this was a game he could play, and the Void was willing to help. Rafael and Uriel needed this bought time to escape. He caught their silent retreat now in his peripheral vision, devastated glances flung his way.

 “She put her hands on me too…and she liked it.”

 “Son of a bitch!” More than just tip stabbed. Gabriel hid another flinch, taking a small gulp of air over the hitch of inhale.

 “I rather liked it too…last time a woman did that to me, I…wasn’t in a position to respond adequately.” His wicked grin set Michael off more. “Did pretty well this time. I’m sure you remember…what it’s like? The way her hands always start so low, surrounding you…how her lips open when you kiss her so you hear her moan …takes her time too. Was _**hard**_ to tear myself away…

 The double entendre earned him a second thrust of steel, right into the exact spot the assassin’s blade had gone. He grunted, smile around the sound malevolently. It was still inexplicably tender from that mortal steel, made a thousand times worse by the Empyrean now bleeding him.

 “She should have shot you.”

 “Heh, yeah, she should have. Didn’t, though.” He lips cracked under the glee of infuriating his brother, caught up in the thrill of meeting death. That was the Void’s contribution. He was, bitterly, in no position to deny he needed its extra gall to make it out of this alive. “Left that to you, brother. Go on, another thrust. You can do it.”

 This time he couldn’t bite down on the cry as steel left skin and muscle behind for deeper tissue. A ribbon of crimson wetted his shirt, stickily plastering it to his skin. He was aware, as the iciness became breathing robbing heat, Michael was mimicking another Vega parallel: stabbing him on the opposite side of his abdomen that Michael had experience at the hands of one of Gabriel’s misguided if well-ish meaning soldiers. He hoped, however, Michael wouldn’t break the blade off inside him as he’d done with the assassin’s, and as his soldier had done with Michael.

 “You know,” Michael breathed on him, listening to the drip of Gabriel’s blood on the tile beneath them, “I tried to cheat once too…with a mortal weapon.”

 Gabriel stilled. More of Vega. Well, Mallory, Alabama this time: where Michael had gone after his rampage in Vega, when he killed his human lover and betrayed Alex Lannon’s trust. A town full of people protected but just a bonfire in the shape of a man reaching to the heavens. Constructed out of sticks and whatever else they could find, they believed its eternal flames to be a sign of God on Earth, the last of His promised people made to believe He’d never fled at all. Michael and Gabriel discovered the prophet who’d come to Mallory during the War was not Father’s, but the Son of Morning’s, and the town was Lucifer stronghold to gather his strength for his return. Michael took the place of the town’s leader, a woman he’d come to love-- showed him how to love again, who was bound by the dictates of this prophet to sacrifice herself in order to keep the fire burning. He removed all the sins of the town confessed to her into his own heart and then pierced it with mortal steel, fulfilling the prophecy… cheating the Devil his due. Gabriel felt him do so, far away, their bond never stronger than that moment he thought him dead.

 Was Michael feeling this now? Without that empathy, he was no better than the Void; it was his guiding light, something they all believed in.

 “Nearly got away with it,” he was saying, “But I paid up in the end.”

 “Still paying,” Gabriel managed, pithy. Hot sweat, warmer blood, and cold holy water interlaced his shakes. “By the looks of it—you’ve gone mad and you don’t even realize it.”

 “I do, heh, brother, I do. What did you say once: madness is always free? You are coming with me—I’m going to make you pay for everything you’ve done to me and this family. You will never touch her again.”

 “Make her love you by killing me? By all means—make me pay. I hope you choke on it, brother.”

 The dare translated into Michael rearing up over him, giving his arm the room to stab home. Gabriel tightened his abdominals for any sort of protection, readying for the shredding bite to come.

 A beam of solid light struck Michael broadside. He careened off his brother across the room in uncontrolled slide out to Uriel’s balcony. He only stopped when skull cracked stone balustrade. Gabriel didn’t have time to be relieved, or even recognize he’d been saved in the nick of time, though his body certainly wanted that minute. Instead, gripped the middle of blade’s length, gauging the depth of the wound. Enough that pulling it unassisted would mean bleeding out. As he’d explained to Miryam, Empyrean steel took no prisoners in its anguish.

 Rafael ran to Gabriel, fully armed with a broadsword that was nearly as big as he was. Behind him, the combined strengths of Gabriel’s, Michaels, and Rafael’s Guards backed them up. Uriel’s Guard was all but wiped out; half of Rafael’s attended the mangled pile.

 Uriel strode to Michael’s writhing body, clinically appraising the bracing effect of holy light on an angel; a similar tactic to what Rafael had used on Gabriel to knock him out earlier. He prodded him with the butt of the weapon he’d waylaid him with: an Empyrean bo staff, as tall as he was, extraordinary powerful, indestructible, and handcrafted by its user. At its head, a gleaming, burned orange Phoenix Fire crystal from Damien pulsating from its manifestation of the Light of God.  He didn’t want this fight, it’s true, but his Chosen One had been right: it would be forced, one way or another. With that in mind, Uriel quietly, sadly, bid farewell to Michael for the duration, “That’s all Father has to say to you.”

 Though it terrified them to do so, the combined Guard hefted Michael to his feet, relieving him of his remaining weapon to bind his wrists with Empyrean netting, a painfully effective tool. Semi-conscious from the blast of holy light, he was hardly a challenge but seeing the damage he’d inflicted on Gabriel, an equally powerful Archangel, they weren’t taking any chances.

 “Lock him in his aerie. My brothers and I will tend to him later.” They nodded briskly at Uriel, and then left in hurry, dragging the Archangel with them.

 He joined Rafael at Gabriel, laying his staff aside. Rafael had removed his shirt the rest of the way, torn nearly off by Michael anyway, for a better look. Uriel’s brows knitted over the carnage; the archangel was already reacting to the toxic steel inside him. “Gabe…?”

  His twin gently prodded the bloody flesh, smoky rings of amber invading the wound, careful not to jostle the blade. “He’ll live. It’s deep, but could be worse…we gotta get this out.”

 Uriel swallowed, nodding, “Right.”

 Gabriel took the Light’s hand with reassuring strength, opening his eyes enough to see the youngest’s smile blossom in response.  Though it came out as a croaking creak, he had to make sure, visions of Vega’s worst to this angel still dancing in his head, “You alright?”

 “Yes. We didn’t want to leave you…”

 “…but you did as you had to, thank you for getting that hint.”

  “Smartest idiot you know, remember?”

 Rafael settled into a crouched position over the blade, one hand to in position to take pommel, the other directly on the wound’s edge, amber thickening to honey colored syrup, ready to lurch and cover to second the blade was free. “Uri? I’m gonna pull. It’s gonna be messy, so…”

 Uriel latched on to Gabriel’s shoulder and leg, holding him down. “Ready.”

 The Healer wordlessly consulted Gabriel; he nodded, shutting down any connections to Michael, dead as it was, and, out of pure reflex, Andre’s. He thought of his boy. The urge to get to him was overwhelming. Even angels—especially archangels, surely-- experienced near death induced regrets… “How soon can I go after you’ve healed this?”

 Rafael gave him an incredulously furious look as he prepped for the next painful step, “We just bloody saved your life and now you wanna pull a bolt and jolt? Fuckin’ A…kill yourself, why don’t you?”

 Teeth ground at the jostling accompanying the prattle, “Raffi!”

 “A day…to be safe, if I put flame to feather for it as well. Why?”

 Gabriel relaxed under Uriel’s restraints, smiling benignly for the Little One…and for Andre, imagining the boy’s shock when he felt this, knowing he would even though he sought to spare him. Shock enough to shake him out of their funk? He could hope. Facing this side of Michael never failed to put the important things of his life in perspective. Seeing Andre, holding his son and protecting him away from the worst, was first and foremost—he’d hope for that chance until he got it, no matter how long it took.

 “’Sis alright…just pull it.”

Rafael steeled himself, sealing his palm around the pommel one finger at a time for the best grip, “So. This is going to hurt. On three?”

 Gabriel got the message. As one voice, they yelled ‘Three!’ It was all the Messenger’s pain, however, that echoed far and wide across the realms.


	25. Yesterdays Are Gone, Tomorrow Is Uncertain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to buy Damien's house, it's still up for sale:  
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> 
> For more information on INTERPOL, visit: www.interpol.int

**_Day 2 of 3—Earth-side_ **

**_8:00 am_ **

  ** _34 Hours Remaining…_**

 While the heavens were in an uncertain flux, the mortal realm was chasing its own crisis between two certain households. As Dawn settled and heat lines began to waver over asphalt, an uneasiness of partnership had sprung overnight between the mortals and immortals of Lucifer’s merry band of misfits. And Heaven’s melee was an exacerbating factor.

 Chloe rose at that crack of dawn, roused by her sleepless night turning into a no longer ignorable need to get down to business. Especially now that the pertinents of her case had taken an infinite darker turn. Yesterday, she told Miryam they would solve this case together, and wouldn’t stop working until it was done. Today, following the strange and dangerous events involving their second killer, a hired gun of all things, following her as a way to Miryam and her family, the case was no longer just about a known pedophile with ties to the sex trade found dead, who just happened to have huge familial connections that made such things incredibly delicate. Today, it was about a known pedophile being found dead **_because_** of his family, and how delicate he made their position, and the position of those around them, so they allegedly had him killed. Today, it was her own family on the line, should those pulling the strings decide her connection the Sealgair and her own warranted action. Today, it was the brashness that made Lucifer endearing but Miryam dangerous, that had her questioning the whole agreement to finish this together.

 She’d made her mind up when Miryam and she returned last night after finishing up at their new crime scene in Skidrow for dinner. The minute she opened the door and Draco’s culinary mastery wafted over her to make her stomach growl and mouth water…and Trixie ran to greet them, yammering something about Daddy not feeling well when he picked up from school, hugging Miryam first.

 Chloe took to watching this guest of hers with new scrutiny…finding cracks in the firmly instituted air of indifference growing since Chloe had come upon her in their Skidrow house’s living room, staring into space, mysteriously in position of the killer’s phone and an envelope she called ‘Manna from Heaven.’ Chloe was a former actress, her mother a cult classic in some circles, she knew acting when she saw it.

 Lies and secrets made any cop uncomfortable. When they affected the job, and in turn, family, that made for suspicion and more importantly, dogged pursuit of the truth. There was more to Miryam Sealgair and her brothers than just an insanely wealthy family, one member a supposed royal, who all just happen to fight crime on the international stage as well as call Lucifer one of their own—those stories were wearing thin. The truth, Chloe decided, would make or break her life, her career, and for that, she needed all the control over those aspects.

 For that, there had to be distance to get the proper perspectives…and much needed answers.

 That something was off in the house that morning. Draco made breakfast, the fluffiest pancakes ever poured. Trixie rose and happily chattered away about Miryam and missing Andre and Lucifer, hopeful they could come over later. That was comfortably normal. Andre was not there, not surprising given the state of relations between he and his sister.  The unusual began when Dan called to say he couldn’t take Trixie to school that day and wouldn’t be in to work either, sounding suspiciously hung over, but not much else, piquing her interest at what had transpired at Lux yesterday between he, and Lucifer and Andre. It was at its oddest when Miryam didn’t get up, her door remained closed, and Draco made no point of it.

 Not even the excuse of her chronic insomnia, her past traumas …not a word. He was even harder to read than his employer, and given Chloe’s decision to cut ties, she didn’t want to get into the specifics with him. All she needed was Draco going to Miryam to prematurely spill the beans. Chloe was tactful enough, respectful enough…and even wanted to be friends with the woman, to know such things needed to be said in person, when both parties were at their best. Personally, Chloe was too on edge and dedicated to end this demented merry-go-round to say she was at her cordial best, while Miryam…having seen her definitively devastated look on her face yesterday just before the mask of cool nerves of steel slipped into place, she was most certainly not at her best or even a shadow of what Chloe believed she could be. Regardless, it needed to be done. Emotionally spent or not, Miryam Sealgair needed to go.

 As she gathered her keys and cellphone, and ushered Trixie out the door, Chloe nodded shortly at Draco, still cleaning up and dutifully ignoring the huge elephant in the room—more aptly, out of the, and said, “Have Miryam give me a call later. I’ll likely be working late.”

 Draco nodded in return, “Madame. May I then assume you’ll need someone to retrieve your hatchling from her studies?”

 Chloe wanly considered him…and his driving skills, “That’s alright, Draco, but thanks for offering.”

 “Well, you did say you would be working late, I only thought--.”

 “Please, Mommy?” Trixie tugged on her hand, “His car is cool, like Lucifer’s!”

 Chloe was about to tell her and Draco no in absolute terms when she caught site of her driveway and curb front. There was no stately Bentley parked in either spots. Which struck her as another oddity—he had it yesterday…

 “Where is your car, Draco?”

 His face perceptibly shifted, darkened almost. Chloe caught the change and stared at him.

 “Draco?”

 He recovered, “Ah…I forgot, yes. It’s still at Lux. My apologies. I shall retrieve it as soon as I’m finished cleaning.”

 Chloe ignored the knotting in her stomach, all instincts screaming something was not only odd but wrong: even Draco was acting weird, and a steadier rock of routine she’s never met.

 “Well…just, uhm, have Miryam call me.”

 When she was gone, Draco threw down his dish towel, tore off the apron he wore to protect his suit front, and all but shouldered down Miryam’s door without knocking. His Lady was not inside. How long, when…he’d slept on the sofa the night before, the floor too much for an old back strained as it was containing its mortal mask, he didn’t know. The bed was made, nary a ruffle, and her cellphone, tellingly left behind, buzzed an endless stream missed calls and texts. All of them Andre up until four am, when he stopped and Lucifer began his attempts.

 He’d had his suspicions…his doubts, his worries his Lady was irreparably changed by Gabriel’s attentions, and the All-Father’s damning decrees…

 He grabbed her phone to call Lucifer back.

* * *

 When Michael and Gabriel were nose to nose in their confrontation, hate and spite flowed between the two as well as their bonded connections to their perspective Chosen Ones. Michael believed his link to Miryam gone; he was wrong. Gabriel thought staving off the worst of the physical and psychology effects of Empyrean injury were enough to keep Andre unawares; he was wrong too.

 Miryam became Michael in the night. Though she wouldn’t know the source, not immediately, the poisonous effects of his descent did unconsciously give birth to irrational urges to hurt Andre, to distance herself, to take back what her twin had taken from her.

 She focused on his holier-than-thou attitude about her closeness with Gabriel as a slight to their very foundations as Triad and family; his rejection of Gabriel a rejection of his right to remain in the Triad, and the pain of losing both Gabriel and Michael as her right to exact revenge and make him come to heel.

 At Lux, Lucifer was at a similar crossroads. Up all night with it too, despite feeling remarkably lighter for his confessions of Heaven and Hell and all that pertained to Dan the day before. Unlike Chloe, he couldn’t leave his guest behind and feel relatively at ease with it being for the best. Like Chloe, he knew something was wrong, and worsening too.

 Maze made an absolutely deplorable nursemaid, quite clear that even if Andre was the next best thing to Lucifer outside of an Antichrist, she was no damn babysitter. Let him sweat it out, whatever the hell ‘it’ was. Kind of spooked her, to be honest, the alien way Andre writhed and screamed, drenched in cold sweats one minute, burning up the next, always complaining his guts were on fire, and his head and back killed him. Whatever this sickness was, it came on suddenly and didn’t let go once, not in the five hours he’d been under its hold.

 Miryam never once answered her phone, not for Andre’s pitiful texts for help, choked out pleas on missed calls, or when Lucifer took up the task himself. With one twin down, Lucifer tried not to get too anxious. It was Andre who’d been with him as he told Dan everything. If this was divine punishment, Miryam couldn’t be implicated in it.

 Andre still spat blood. Newly mortal himself, the sight of blood coming out of a another once immortal’s mouth sent Lucifer running.

 He and Maze presently looked in on Andre, a half-naked whimpering ball in a bed stripped of its sheets and blankets during one of his fit of agony.

 “The old Dragon is on his way. Apparently Miryam is missing too. Stole the family Bentley, believe it or not.”

 “That’s not a coincidence.”

 “With Dad, it never is.”

 Draco ‘s Uber arrived soon after. He was obviously unamused by such transportation. Lucifer, dressed in his black silk robe and looking less than his ebullient self, escorted him to Andre’s darkened rooms.

 Lucifer had filled Draco in during their call on the timelines and sequence of events from overnight that left Andre a shivering ball unable to leave his bed, detailing the symptoms’ of this violent mystery illness.

 Since Miryam told both men about the Triad’s loss of immortality as the face of their abandonment by the Father, it was easy to believe it was a fierce form of the flu. Except for the phantom open wound that appeared on his body, gored in his flank. And the horrific screaming of his innocence against imagined attacks. It was almost as if he suddenly lost of his mind and his body just went along.

 Draco’s heart sank at the sight of the Little Dragon, pale and sweating, and wholly bewildered by his body’s betrayal. When Andre’s fever brushed eyes met his, they grew watery with relief.

 “D-Draco! Miry…where’s m-my sister.”

 Andre tried to uncurl himself. Solid hammer blows through his ribs at the movement seized him and stopped the attempt cold. Draco sat on his bedside with paternal grace.

 “Shhh, little one, your sister is safe.”

 “Called her…called her over and over…”

 The old Dragon almost didn’t want to touch the boy, beginning with a permissive brush of the forehead to mark the fever’s progress. He murmured soft encouragement and support for Andre to let him see his side.

 “No!” Andre scrunched like an armadillo into its shell, his own arms encircling as a barrier. “Please. Hurts worse…w-when you touch.”

 Draco angled for a look at the dressage on the wound; marginal, rough, but passable. “I won’t touch. I won’t touch.”

 “Miry…”

 “She is well.” _I hope._

Andre weakly searched for Draco’s nearest hand, a clammy grip sealing them together. “G-Gabriel.”

The boy was almost out of his head, and like any little child afraid of what was happening to them, he wanted his father. Draco could appreciate that…and the impossibility of it as well.

 “Andre…I don’t think he would be a wise visitor. When we get you cleaned up and on your feet, I shall try Rafael?”

 Andre gulped, shaking his head as vehemently as a stiff neck allowed. “…sis Gabriel!”

 Draco considered the earnestness of this statement, a little more out of context than before.

 “What’s Gabriel, little Dragon?”

 Lucifer spoke up from the door, a hooded gaze of introspective gravity watching from behind the haze of his lit cigarette. “He’s been saying that all morning—wouldn’t tell me anything more.”

 Andre looked to him, then the Dragon, then made a move he hadn’t since he was little thing so afraid of the dark at the monastery he grew up at, when his surrogate father far off and of no comfort. He semi-crawled in Draco’s lap, hugging his legs and digging a trembling chin into muscular thighs. His whole torso collapsed against his new pillow, sheer exhaustion from this change taking his breath away. 

 The Dragon petted his black cotton cue tip head, using this new position and perspective to view the back for more signs of distress. He found plenty, calling Lucifer over to see for himself.

 “He didn’t have those before, and no mattress made the—I should know, the same one’s on my bed and it’s taken all the abuse I’ve thrown at it…

 An eggplant colored roadmap to a severe beating marred his back and muddied the huge dragon tattoo inked there. With Andre’s head firmly in his lap, almost drooling in contentment over no new shocks and horrible white hot pokers jabbing his ribs and pummeling his head had resulted in this switch to lap, Draco had his best opportunity to test a muddled theory.

 He drew his pointer finger along the width of the scripted Enochian tattoo gracing Andre’s neck, depicting his bonding to the Archangel Gabriel. Andre thrashed under the scalding burn the touch released on his skin, immediately lashing out and scooting away.

 Lucifer joined Draco in his retreat back outside the room, out of earshot.

 “Well? What is this?” asked Lucifer impatiently. “And is it contagious. Because I’ve been up with him all night, and the whole spitting blood? Rather not…”

 “He needs fluids and nourishment. I don’t suppose you know of any reliable in house medical supply establishments in the area?”

 Lucifer snapped back, “Funny question—would a therapist help? That’s all I’ve got to offer. Been immortal since, you know, **_forever_**.”

 “I understand your frustrations,” replied Draco sympathetically. “Facing mortality so close…I don’t envy you…or him, especially, in this affair. No matter, I’ll take care of it.”

 “So is he sick, or isn’t he?”

 “I wasn’t sure at first. But with the way Gabriel was behaving yesterday with Miryam—“

 “Yeah, jumping down her pants, was what it was—bravo for him, but so what?”

 “If you let me finish. …Between his behavior, Miryam’s after she was told of the All-Father’s loss of faith in her and the Triad, and her decision to forgo any help Gabriel might give by forcing him home…and now her disappearance and the nature of Andre’s attack…I’m relatively sure we have something much worse than sickness on our hands.”

 “What then? Dad finding a new whipping boy?”

 “Like your younger brothers, Prince, were actively killing each other up there last night and the Chosen Ones are the bloodshed to prove it.

 Discussing that which Lucifer once plotted required drink, and a quiet moment of deep retrospective musing on the Devil’s part. Good fortune was really just a sucker’s pipe dream in the right light.

 Draco explained and Lucifer listened without making a single wisecrack for the ten minutes it took. He was long disenfranchised of the games Dad played for His own sake. Getting a family back that Lucifer actually tried to care about made His choice to group that family in with the suckers the bitterest pill to swallow—for a favored son, the benefits were certainly outweighed by the depravity.

 Lucifer firmly believe at this point Father was manically cleaning house. If he wanted this family to stick together, he’d better start turning Chosen Ones to his side faster than just the casual jab or nudge in that right direction. This wasn’t the king making or queen making he’d treated it as yesterday, humoring Miryam’s dalliances into her dark side. This was clear cut win or lose scenario. Having lived the price of losing, Lucifer wasn’t keen on a repeat.

 “So let me get this straight,” said the Devil as Draco finished up, not at all fuzzy on the specifics since Father played on patterns a lot for everything—what Draco just described was another pattern—but wanted to hear himself describe it in his own words to make the audacity stick, “You’re saying that Dad bonded these Chosen Ones to their angels as He bonded the Archangel twins to one another? And that…they feel, see, whatever…anything their angel does? He literally screwed His best soldiers over again by making them beholden to someone equally weak? That’s what you’re telling me.”

 “Rather…blanketing in the negative,” conceded the Dragon, “But yes, basically. Although the Archangel binding, as Rafael once explained it to me, is much stronger and deeper. They can’t readily manipulate the connection with their twin like they can with their Chosen Ones’.” He paused to drink his brandy, warmed in his grasp to suitable temperature, “That’s why,” he finished slowly, “The estrangement between the Triad and the angels has gone on for so long…no one has cared to cross their respective bridges.”

 “So if the connections between Andre and Gabriel, and Miryam and Michael are ‘off’, why do we have this problem?”

 Draco smiled sadly, “Because, Prince, your family is as fallible as you are with emotions and loyalties.”

 Lucifer bristled, “You don’t have to get personal about it—you and I, we’re only together because—“ he stopped abruptly, catching himself before he made Draco’s point for him.

 “Because you care about Andre.” The Dragon finished for him. “Speak freely, Lucifer, I am not the judging or dismissive type.”

 “Huhn. No, just the incinerating kind…”

 “Now who’s personal?”

 Lucifer glared.

 “You and I heard what Amenadiel said yesterday, about Michael watching. You didn’t see, however, what I saw.”

 “And what was that?”

 “Gabriel and Miryam. I dare say there were fireworks, and while that smoke got in their eyes… it didn’t get in Michael’s. If he’s as unstable as we’re led to believe, and saw what I saw, and Gabriel went home to that?”

 Lucifer scoffed, “How can Michael be jealous of something he’s never had? He had all the time in universe to make his move—tell you what, been me with her, be a completely different conversation.”

 “But it’s not you, Lucifer…nor is this about you. Oh, I believe you have role in this somewhere, as Michael does, for different reasons, but it’s not to paint your brothers as the second coming—this isn’t Vega. At least…I hope not.”

 “You’re getting personal again, old man.”

 “If Michael attacked Gabriel as viciously as Andre is presenting, we must find Miryam post haste.”

 “As much as I want to, given what you just got finished saying, having Michael and Gabriel’s human mouthpieces in the same space: not the best arraignment.”

 “Then we quarantine her if we must, but we find her first.”

 While Draco made arraignments for the proper medical supplies for Andre, Lucifer snagged Maze and marched her back to the club office, their impromptu command center still humming under all of Andre’s upgrades.

 “Since you were so interested in all this yesterday, Maze, I want you to find Miryam.”

 The demoness scowled sullenly, “One: that interest you saw? Was not a bargaining chip for you to use, it was mine. Two: why would I help you find someone I think you’d be better off without? That chick had even worse baggage than you. And three: even if I did want to help?” She spread her arms to walls around them, laughing smartly, “She could be literally anywhere in the city, hell, the state. So, no. I will not find your Chosen One for you, Lucifer.”

 Draco appeared behind her, smiling beatifically at Lucifer, “I believe I can assist with the last point. The Bentley is equipped with state of the art GPS tracking technology—Andre’s own design. Unless my Lady disabled it or ditched the ride, as you say, it will lead us directly to her.” He slid his gaze to Maze, “As for the first two points, Lucifer, they are your issues with your assistant here. But may I remind you both my Lady is more than just her baggage and her past; she is a Queen, my Queen. I will have her back, without or without your help. With it, we finish this quickly. Without it, this draws on needlessly long. Two of our three Chosen Ones will possibly suffer greater emotional torment, while I myself will never forgive either of you for allowing it and swear to make it a personal mission to send you back to your hell fires.” The beatific smile never wavered as he threatened. Draco was nowhere near as old as the Son of Morning, but his type, the spoiled child of great forgotten promise, he knew well enough to handle.

 Lucifer twisted his face up in a pointed ‘Told you so’ pout at Maze, plying smarmy weight to her name for good measure.

 “Fine!” She threw up her hands, heels clicking quickly around the office desk as she shook the mouses, waking the slumbering computers, rapidly recalled everything she’d seen the doppelganger do in the last day. She sat in Andre’s favorite roller chair, cracking knuckles. “Alright. So. What am I looking for?”

* * *

 

  ** _10:00am_**

**_Beverly Hills, CA 90210_ **

**_Trousdale Estate…_ **

 The $12 million dollar Trousdale Estate, recently on the market and snapped up quite handily by a previously unknown party, was 5,509 sq ft of prime living space on over 21,000 sq feet of precious flat lot space with 180 degree views overlooking the city and ocean: couldn’t ask for much more in Beverly Hills. Its most impressive feature was its sunken living room enclosed by floor to ceiling glass panels—disconcerting at night, breathtaking and eye-catching in the day.

Miryam parked at the end of its long driveway, choosing the uphill trudge instead to work out the cramps in her legs from driving all morning. The heaviness she felt in her heart permeated her entire body. She had to force herself to do this, to walk up this long driveway, knock on the front door around the side of the impressive patio, and face Damien.

Her escape from Chloe’s house in the wee hours had been just that, an escape. The irrationality of how her mind chugged through the weight of the day behind her, the weight of her past surging up through once strongly built emotional shields, terrified her. She hadn’t the words to describe the feeling of freefall.

She thought she’d gone mad.

A twisted wanting, needing, craving…to kill Andre. She’d run, the only thing left to her besides fulfilling this sickness of its wants.

Trapped in her own mind, Miryam wanted to find someone she could just walk up to and say ‘Help?’, and get it, no questions asked. She wanted to feel safe, like she did in Gabriel’s arms. But the darkness chided her to hope for such mercy. He abandoned her too, didn’t he? _Why?_ This nasty voice whispered in her ear.

Because she was alone.

For five hours, she drove aimlessly believing this. She had no reason not to. Tunnel vision shackled her so she drove with hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel and a steady even speed out of fear she would crash if she didn’t hang on like this.

In the sixth hour, as the sun rose in the sky, so did her spirits. It shone in her heart and soul, clearing her mind as quickly as the darkness had come. Exhaustion set in along with shame. She’d turned around then, this newfound peace safely assuring her she had one place to go where help would never be denied.

Damien answered her tentative knock in a wife beater and lounge pants, showcasing a body that was somehow more heartstoppingly gorgeous half-awake than put together. He wasn’t the complete picture of radiant golden king of lore, a critical somberness warping him. Yesterday had also been a shit day for him and he wasn’t fully recovered. He managed a welcoming smile, “Miry. …Hadn’t expected you so soon.”

The furnishings, for a luxury spread, were spartan. Steel IKEA mostly, recessed flush mounted LED light fixtures on the overhang outside and inside, dark hardwood floors; the glassed-in living room allowing natural light to flood in during the day. The paneling’s laser security grid, the initiators quarter sized mounts, was off but if it were on, no one could break or crack one, let alone touch, without the cavalry coming.

She took in the layout, waiting until he’d closed the door to rush forward and tackle him in a hug. “Damien…”.

She started to cry, a soul cleansing breakdown. Taken aback by its severity, he did what he could, holding on in return. She was entitled, surely, finding out she was out of favor, her life written off, and angels once her protectors and guardians reduced to negligibles. Damien felt the same since saying goodbye to Uriel.

He guided her to his sunken living, to his couch, and set her down so she could lean into him comfortably as she wept.

When she was down to just sniffling she remained snuggled against him, feeling safe at last. His heartbeat helped, reverberating through him strong and steady, lulling.

 “You look terrible?” He offered with teasing grin, a brilliant flash of white teeth that made her laugh in abrasive agreement. She ran her hands of her face, through her hair, freeing strands from its hasty ponytail.

Seeing she was still distraught, he got up from more coffee for both before delving deeper. When he returned with full steaming mugs, one of them passed gratefully to her, he snugging her close again, like he used to when she was younger.

Miryam was grateful, nuzzling his shoulder with her chin as she curled up like a cold cat in front of a hot fire, her mug clutched like a handwarmer. His arm moved to let her sink flush against him, soaking up his body heat—he was the Firebird, after all, flushed with the Phoenix Fire.

“C’mon, Miry…” he encouraged now that she was relaxing and appeared ready, “Tell me what it is.”

“Where’s Uriel?”

“…That’s not it.”

“Not,” her mumbled agreement was a verbal shrug, “But I thought he’d be here…kinda why I came.”

“Ah. Came for the Light, settle for the Fire, huh?”

“Stop it…not true.”

It was sweetly murmured denial but not good-natured; more hurting than guff. He quit the teasing. “You really needed Uriel?”

“I would have liked to see him again.”

Damien tilted his head back as he took a sip of coffee to cover his silent wish of the same. “I’m sorry, he left yesterday.”

She stopped the appreciative rubbing of her hand over the bulky definition in his chest, feeling his heart jump at sharing the news, “He went home?”

“Yes,’ his reply was quiet, almost aching, “He did. Asked him not to, but…” He smiled slightly, shaking his head, “Archangel. Stiff upper lip, and all that…”

Miryam took a long sip of coffee herself. “That makes this harder for me to say.”

“Then start where you’re comfortable—you know I’ll listen no matter what.”

Her voice grew smaller, “Even if it might mean Uriel is in danger?”

Damien did a double take to the top of her head. “…What do you mean?”

The urgency in the question tightened her fingers where they lay over his heart as she squeezed eyes shut against the bitter eeriness chasing her. “Michael…I felt him. This morning. I felt him for the first time since Vega. My tattoo burned, he was so **_angry._**

Damien’s whole body became a coiled spring of apprehension. “And.”

“And,” she struggled to continue, tears springing up, “I—I wanted to kill Andre. All of a sudden I wanted to hurt everyone around me but I ** _had_** to kill my twin. Didn’t understand, not right away, so I ran; took the Bentley, been driving ever since.”

He took the coffee from her before she spilled it, setting both mugs on the coffee table. Damien was aware that their bonding to the archangels granted them similar psychic access as the angels’ bonding to their twins did. Though Miryam refused to acknowledge hers to Michael, he could manipulate it from his side, purposely or accidentally. Knowing what Uriel told him about the Sword…the Light’s own trepidation over what might happen should Gabriel and Michael meet, his desire to go home and play mediator, and Damien’s own fears his best friend was walking into a danger greater than himself, he duly took Miryam seriously.

“I sent Gabriel home, Damien! I sent him back to Michael. Like he wouldn’t be waiting? Uriel too. If—if I hurt them…”

He took her by the arms and peeled her to arm’s length away. “Miry.” His demand broke through the self-pitying. She gulped the rest, blinking dolefully at him. He raised his eyebrows while nodding, “Good?”

“…mmsorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Have you spoken to Andre?”

She shook her head no. “Left my cell behind.”

“That was dumb. Never do that again— keep it on you at all times!” Damien checked himself when this drove Miryam off the couch to hugging herself at his patio doors.

“…Alright, shouldn’t have said that, but you do know better. Especially now.”

“Did you feel anything?”

He didn’t like the vindictiveness; she was blaming him for not understanding the pain. He hadn’t felt a thing, a relief if it meant Uriel was still safe, but he knew the pain nevertheless.

“Don’t blame me, Miry.” He met her at the patio sliders, holding her against him from behind, brushing the hair at her temple to check the inflamed script of her tattoo and absorbing the small flinch he caused in doing so. “Uriel is safe, can you begrudge me that? I hope not. I still know your pain, don’t think I don’t.”

“Mmmnot blaming you…”

“Ohh yes you are.” He kissed her tattoo. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I do deserve some blame. I didn’t protect you and Andre well enough, I didn’t…fight for you two like I should have when Gabriel and Michael left. I talked a big game, didn’t back it up. Now that we three are all we have? That’s not going to fly.”

Her weight settled into him, her sigh deep and venting, “How can we be so forsaken, Damien?”

“Not an answer I have. Uriel would say it’s Vega, all of it. I disagree. Vega just gave it teeth.”

His cell phone rang from the coffee table. He kissed her cheek, apologizing he had take it. Keeping an eye trained on her rigid stance as he answered, not entirely surprised it was Draco, just that it took him this long.

“Is she with you?”

“She is. So she rabbited on you, huh.”

“Is she well?”

Damien cocked a more interested ear into the conversation.  “So you know too.” He added, “She’s shaken… that’s about it.”

“Praise the All-Father.” Draco was sincere, too sincere to not be genuinely concerned for otherwise in the first place. “I need you to bring her to Lux; plan to stay yourself. I believe you all should be together for this.”

“For what?”

Miryam was watching him now, caught up in the increased forcefulness in his voice.

“It’s Andre.” replied Draco. “And it’s dire. Come as quickly as you can.”

* * *

  ** _12:00pm_ **

**_LAPD’s Homicide Division_ **

After arriving to work that morning, Chloe immediately headed over to their labs to check on the blood sample, envelope, and cellphone she’d handed off to the CSIs the day before. She was told to come back at noon, everything would be done by then.

Well, it was noon, she was back, and the labs were quiet for lunch. She had wondered why she was told to come back during the lunch hour but was so entirely invested in figuring this case out on her own, had come anyway.

No word from Miryam further confirmed the strangeness surrounding the woman. The things Chloe chose to ignore at first for the caliber of investigator and the connection to Lucifer she brought.

Chloe didn’t enjoy putting Sealgair out of the way, it was just for the best for all around that she did—LAPD had pull in enough areas of law enforcement, local and otherwise, as it was, what would they miss out on? Sealgair would win too, get what she wanted most: justice and closure.

Brass would probably overrule Chloe on the decision to cut ties. If they did, she would simply and formally delegate them to do the background work if was so important they remain on, citing their international influence. The excitement of big stage politics and affluence made Miryam Sealgair’s attachment to the case such a comforting crutch, the same way Lucifer’s hypnosis gag was to her now. To that, Chloe reminded herself she was following her own intuition and solving cases well enough before Lucifer and his family came along.

 On her way out of the labs, feeling burned by the run around on top of her spectacularly shitty morning, Chloe was about to say screw it and start hitting the pavement her own way when she was strangely met not by a returning lab assistant or tech, but the Assistant ME, Doctor Derek Tomlin.

His office was a 2-mile drive in the opposite direction, and he almost never came to the station unless absolutely necessary or when asked by a ranking detective to do so; both made his appearance all the more suspect. He looked more like the beach bum crowd Chloe always run into every spring break and ended up arresting, in his t-shirt, khaki cargo shorts and Vans boat shoes, than assistant to the Medical Examiner-Corner of the whole LA county. The dark circles under his unsettling green eyes, freed by no glasses and mirroring her own this morning, didn’t ease worrying minds either.

He waved her to follow him to the end of the hall away from the labs, to the emergency exit, and then to stairwell beyond. Checking to make sure no one was on the stairs and they were completely alone, he closed the emergency exit door behind them on the first landing.

Sufficiently weirded out by the spycraft, she crossed her arms in demand for an explanation. He frowned, adequately guilty. “Sorry for all this. It’s necessary.”

“Meeting in stairwells, stepping on toes where you don’t belong, that’s necessary?”

“Look,’ said Tomlin, sounding as stressed as he looked, “I didn’t start out wanting to get involved. Okay? You bring me the dead bodies, I figure out what the hell made them dead, and you go catch the bad guys. Great. That’s what I’ve been doing, happily, since I signed on here. But now…,” Frustrated, he softened to a more roundabout approach, “Dr. Lakshmanan always told me I would get that one case… I just couldn’t let go on. The one we hang on to more than the others. Well,” He squared his shoulders, determined, “This is mine. Detective. It kept me up all night. When I heard what you found yesterday after you left my office, I realized why I couldn’t stop thinking about your pro. I realized…you’ve stepped into my old back yard, and it’s my job to make sure your body isn’t on the autopsy table the next time around.”

Chloe stared. Gauging the level of trust for a guy who just went from sideline to mid playing field.

He saw he hesitation, and encouraged her to believe, “I’m not trying to scare you, honestly, but the warning I gave you about your second killer still stands. Because there are more of them out there, right now, and you just sent up a huge red flag for them to follow.”

She held up a staying hand, “Alright. Wait. Just…slow down. I’m going to explain…what really happened at the Skidrow scene…and then I want you to tart from…a beginning, somewhere, **_anywhere_** , that doesn’t spell paranoia? Okay?”

She told him everything about the LeBlanc case she knew, or suspected, including Miryam’s fears of retribution. A likelihood now if Tomlin was correct in his outlandish suspicions.

His suffering sigh and pinched scratching of his nose and eyebrow echoed in the acoustics of the stairwell. “Well, shit. …I can’t top that?”

She snorted. “This isn’t a competition about whose night was shittier.”

“Wasn’t trying to make it sound that way… prolly could have phrased it better…sorry, alright.” He licked his lips and smoothed back his cropped hair in distraction. “So it doesn’t sound like paranoia?” He muttered back to himself Chloe’s admonishment, only to nod in quick deliberation, “Kay. Direct approach then.” Tomlin swallowed and began, an effusive user of hands to illustrate, “I have friends in the labs, Detective. We talk, you know. We share ideas, theories, on the bodies that cross our mutual paths. When it gets tough, we talk about that too. …It’s…supposedly classified, but you know I was a Navy medic?”

She nodded. He proceeded to drop one of many bombshells, as sick as it made him feel to do so.

“Well the classified part is I was a special ops medic: I was part of the team that patched up SEALs post op.”

Chloe’s mouth fell open. So it wasn’t all just friends and friends of friends…Tomlin knew first hand everything he’d told her yesterday. That changed her view of him instantly. And he recognized that new respect, and cautioned it directly.

“You cannot and will not repeat any of this to anyone, okay? That part of my record is sealed; all everybody here knows is I served and I got my education with the Post-9/11 GI Bill. I mean…Jesus, it’s enough this shit has followed me here.” He took a deep breath and continued, “Those friends of mine in the lab called me when they received your newest batch of evidence, truck included.”

“Why?” asked Chloe, rapt attention trumping disbelief.

“Because the blood sample you collected? It came back to somebody I used to know.”

He withdrew a manila folder he’d been holding under his arm to hand it over. She examined the folder jacket, noting its agency credentials with some degree of validation. She and Miryam figured federal employee from the plates on the recovered truck, “Department of Homeland Security.” She looked to Tomlin, “How’d you get this?”

He shrugged, only admitting, “More of those friends I keep mentioning.”

She went back to reading, the picture accompanying the dossier of a handsome blond haired blue eyed man who reminded her of Miryam’s brother Damien. “Scott Travis, age 34, from Colorado Springs, Colorado. Semi-pro skier before joining the Navy. You’re from Colorado Springs, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I didn’t know him from there, though, we met at Coronado. I don’t talk—can’t talk—about a lot of what I did and saw, but my friends here knew about him because…” Tomlin gave a look of trepidation, trailing off there.

Chloe knew the look when she saw it: every victim’s family had it; the look of why them?, why their loved one? She pressed accordingly: gently, “Because why, Derek?”

 “…Because he was the first guy I almost personally lost—and fought like hell to bring back. I saved his life—all me. He became my personal example of perseverance. Ours was a team effort, so you take yourself out of the equation for the best of the team, but that save? It was all me, and I was proud of it. He was a good guy, smartass, incredibly sharp, and a damn good soldier.”

Now his warning about the killer made even more sense. That it turned out he knew the man was another sick twist. “You probably heard, but…the amount of blood we found--.”

Tomlin cut her off, “I don’t care that he’s dead now—the Scott Travis I knew wouldn’t have sold himself out like this. I care that his kind of shitbags are screwing with people’s lives here and now.’

He dropped his next bombshell, withdrawing the smartphone retrieved from the scene on Skidrow from his cross body messenger bag, still inside its plastic evidence pouch. Chloe’s eyes widened, ‘Oh! Great! Add in evidence tampering too!”

Tomlin grimaced, “Like I said, it’s necessary.” He explained, “After my friends called me about Scott, I came down here to take a look myself…and to get this. This,” he held up the smartphone, “Is your key to unlocking your case.”

Chloe didn’t doubt that, but the melodramatic tone Tomlin took definitely signaled more besides that.

“CSIs are still processing the Denali—the anti-theft system is…unique, believe me. I know they’ve made calls to the Imperial Beach Station for the quartermaster of their motorpool. No response so far. That doesn’t surprise me. It’s not going to be part of their fleet. Besides that, they need this phone to access the truck and anything else in the vehicle, any equipment he may have brought along.” He pointed to what like a home button mid bottom on the phone’s casing. “Problem with that it this phone is biometrically operatized. That means it’s finger print protected. Scott’s and only Scott’s will unlock it. There’s an encrypted Bluetooth app downloaded that will unlock the vehicle and equipment once in. I didn’t have them share that part on their calls because I don’t want this phone’s existence to be known—it’s SEAL tech, along with the Denali, and neither are supposed to be in DHS hands anyway.”

“Like I said, evidence tampering.”

He shrugged. “So sue me for still having some loyalty for the Team…”

 Chloe got back to the phone, “Well, so…they lifted the prints off that reader then, right?”

Tomlin shook his head, “Not that easy—wiped clean; lab boys said he must have either worn gloves or gave it a good rubdown with a microfiber cloth and non-static cling screen cleaner. Which I one hundred percent believe—they’re all type A meticulous, and know their craft. You need his body, Detective, if you want what this has got,” He waved the phone temptingly in front of her. “And that’s everything.”

“When you say everything, you mean that big red flag I somehow waved?”

“You and your partner, Miryam…or whoever she is—INTERPOL, wasn’t it? Heh,” Tomlin scoffed shortly, unimpressed, “How much you know about INTERPOL, Detective?”

Not a question she’d expected, especially from an assistant ME, to be sure, but then that was the point, “Uh, uhm,” She fumbled, blinking to catch up, “International police?”

“Close. INTERPOL is an intergovernmental organization, Detective. They facilitate international policing cooperation among member states, which includes almost every advanced country in the world, even between states that have no other diplomatic ties. You should know that INTERPOL is completely neutral in all its case, and cannot get directly involved—says so right in its Constitutional charter…Not only that,” He stared good and hard at her, “It doesn’t employ its own field agents; only culls those from member state forces to staff its Bureaus and French headquarters.” He shrugged, nonplussed by this third bombshell, “Might want to ask your new partner who she really works for, is all I’m saying.”

For the lack of real shock, it was obvious to him the mystery surrounding Miryam Sealgair was not a new issue for her. For the amount of astonished outrage, this heaping of truth against lie hammered home a new nail in the coffin of their partnership for good. Chloe went to leave, white lipped and stony-faced. Tomlin’s inaction to stop her when she felt, correctly, he wasn’t finished telling her what needed to be told halted her.

She looked at him. “You said you didn’t want to get involved. So why are you?”

Tomlin bowed his head. “Because…we’ve all waded into uncharted waters this time. I called in a few favors I have at the DHS. I wanted to know if Scott really was Border Patrol these days—I’d lost track of him after I got out, so I honestly didn’t know.” He nodded at the folder still in her hands, “The truck’s registration, that dossier, they’re all real. Friend of mine works at the Imperial Beach Station, told me Scott was with them for about two years but a took a medical leave of absence three months ago and hasn’t been back. This is where the alarms bells started going off: he also said several other guys we served with took jobs around the same time as Scott in DHS’ Border Patrol, all in the San Diego sector out of Imperial Beach. For a couple months to a year a time, these guys would take a leave of absence, drop off the grid. Got so bad more than a few were let go. Its systemic too—from what he’s telling me, all the intelligence and enforcement agencies having been experiencing sudden labor drains: their boys sign up, do their jobs at first, then disappear. He didn’t try to paint it as all of them are bad apples, but the bushel is rotten, Detective.”

“What are you saying?”

He stepped in closer, dropping his voice to a serious tremor, “I’m saying—he’s saying---off the record somebody is sucking up the soldiers coming off active duty and making them play dirty for them instead of the government. There’s an organization out there, somewhere, making assassins out of guys like Scott Travis, goods guys who fought for their country, and it’s bleeding them dry, the holes just too many to plug. My friend…was pretty upset, sis why he told me in the first place…”

“And…this organization…they were contracted to put Scott Travis on Mortenson to silence him, and then me and Miryam as loose ends? A contract hit?”

He stepped back, “He was just the first—you’re lucky somebody else got the drop on Scott; whoever they are, you owe your life to them. Bad news for you is there’s bound to be more on the way. I can’t tell you how many, or when, but when Scott doesn’t check in like he should have, probably around yesterday evening, they’re gonna know he failed. I want to help you stop them—I know them, they won’t until it’s finished.”

Chloe took a moment to process, coming to grips with the complete lack of decency or regard for human life this case continued to accumulate.

“How? How could what you’re saying possibly be true?”

“Those are famous last words, considering, don’t you think?”

She rolled her eyes, “Not helpful, Derek.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“So,” she gestured weakly, ‘How can you help me?”

Tomlin shifted his bag on his shoulder, “Can I meet you tonight? I need some time to call in more favors, run down guys from the old days. I’ll have a better idea then.”

He took the folder back, safely securing it in his bag, only to then extend the baggied smartphone to her along with his card, his personal cell scribbled on the back. She hesitated in the handoff; stealing evidence was a serious offense, and made her feel dirty in a way she herself despised in others in the department.

“Humor me, Detective.” He shoved the phone into her hand, “Your evidence, after all. Besides, it’s better, just in case, to separate the puzzle pieces.” He left by the stairs, descending quickly in disappearing footfalls. Chloe pocketed the phone and business card, gingerly bundling its voluminous baggie around its shape, and went out the way she came, mind whirling, nerves fraying, feeling damned in every way imaginable.

What was unimaginable was returning to a sense of normalcy in her day. Back at her desk a couple minutes later, Chloe struggled with routine and reality just barreling along as if the walls didn’t have elephant ears, and the black helicopters weren’t suddenly real. Every ringing phone, every raised voice, every corner skirting uniform or fellow detective on their way in or out, raised the specter of suspicion. Each new arrival scrutinized; who could she trust?

Not Lucifer, who she fought so hard not to befriend but there she went and made that mistake. Not the fraud and possible wolf in sheep’s’ clothing herself, Miryam, who was just getting to the point with Chloe where opening her home with the woman didn’t seem strained but friendly and hopeful. Two such interesting members of an enigmatic family…without any further background or assurances besides their own words—words that, duly noted now, contained delusions of Devils and Hell and Heaven—allowed inside her home and near her child.

The universe stacked against the chances she took: a sword to fall on, most definitely.

The weight of the confiscated phone in her pocket felt like a brick. Anxiously checking to make sure no one was giving her the eye, she pulled her own cell and stepped away from the confines of her desk, making her way through the crowded floor to an empty conference room, shutting herself in.

Dan picked up on the last ring before voicemail, sounding a little less hung over and just as uptight as she felt, rushing through his greeting by way of open praying for good news. “Chloe—what’s up? Trixie okay?”

She shook head at the head, squinting at the screen to make sure she had the right number, “What--? No…! I mean, yeah, she’s fine. What’s the matter with you? You sound worse than before.”

“Feel worse than before,” he replied, matter of fact. “You don’t sound too good either.”

“Nope, heh,” she sighed through the weak chuckle, biting her bottom lip in search for the best possible way to not sound needy or clingy. Managed to blurt out, “I need to see you tonight.”

The dead gaping silence made it easier to believe it had come off just as wrong, “Dan—hello?”

“I’m here.” His response sounded hollow, tiptoeing around the next sentence, “Uh, like…what? Business-see me, or family-time see me? I’m…really not the best company right now, just so you know.”

“Business.” She answered too eagerly, “Uhm, sorry..” She modulated it down a turn, “Business…and, actually, I just need someone to talk to I can trust.” The jackhammer of isolation drilled into on the admittance. “And I trust you, Dan. Funny, I shouldn’t-didn’t, after Palmetto, but now, heh, Palmetto was a walk in the park compared—.”

“It’s Lucifer, isn’t it.” His interruption took the rest of the words right out of her mouth. Not because he sounded the usual pissed off jealous ex, but the dread he said Lucifer’s name with…and the resignation. “What did he tell you?” He wanted to know, jumping down her throat as she had with her need to see him. No longer making sense, she gave the screen another raised eyebrow.

“Lucifer didn’t tell me anything, I haven’t talk to him since yesterday afternoon at Lux. Dan, what is going on between you two? Even Trixie noticed yesterday when you picked her up from school. What did you say two each other while I was gone?”

Dan dodged, “Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you tonight, okay? I’ll pick up Trixie…let her stay with me until you get there.”

“Sure,” though she felt anything but, suspicions bounding through her now against even Dan, squashed immediately as they sprouted.

“Oh, and, by the way, just…out of curiosity…you haven’t seen Malcolm around today, have you?”

“No, haven’t, why?”

“Oh.” Crestfallen didn’t do him justice. “Okay, yeah, talk to you later.”

Chloe hung up, more unsettled…and rightfully almost jump out of her skin when the conference door swung open, one of her fellow Detectives peering in.

“Oh! Jesus…!” Chloe’s hand flew to the bundled phone in her pocket as she spun, “Scared me…”

The detective frowned at the behavior, “Monroe wants to see you asap.”

Chloe swallowed, palming her forehead in a bid to calm down. Out on the floor, the rest of Homicide ogled the two behemoth black-suited men stalking in behind their lieutenant for her office. Chloe staggered stepped forward, instantly shrinking from complying. “She wants to see me?” The question sounded distant in her ears.

“Yeah.” Jutted his chin after the strangers. “Feds.” He muttered. “Homeland Security…don’t know what you did, Decker, but you sure fucked up this time…”

Chloe’s blood ran cold.

“Bad enough Graham’s gone AWOL, now the monkeys in the suits show up…” He was muttering on, but she was already beyond him, nothing else mattering except shriving to put one foot in front of the other with her chin up.

How could they have found her so quickly? Just a half an hour had transpired between Tomlin setting out her dire straits…to those straits becoming a white water rapids shitshow. It was a fantastic turn of events.

 _Dumb question; what did you expect?_ Her last consciously rational thought before stepping inside Monroe’s office was to quickly and blindly activate her own smartphone’s voice recorder in its back pants pocket—for posterity and for Tomlin. The brick weight of the other in her dolman shawl’s pocket studiously ignored.

Olivia Monroe’s expression was severe upon Chloe’s arrival, gesturing her to shut the door.

“Detective, these are special agents Hawkins and Jeffs, from the Department of Homeland Security’s Directorate of Management division.” A fancy term of internal affairs if she ever heard one.  “Detective Chloe Decker, gentlemen.”.

Introductions. She was supposed to shake their hands, right? Both had to have played football at one point, tall, big, and broad all around, and were uniformly similar in looks to Scott Travis. No hands were extended, merely polite nods, a saving grace.

“They’re here to take possession of the federal equipment retrieved in regards to your current case, Detective.”

“We haven’t been able to examine all of it.” Chloe reminded her. “The impounded vehicle has a unique anti-theft system. CSIs haven’t been able to get in to it.”

She knew that should please the men, if they were here to cover their dead colleague’s ass. And toss them off the scent if they were hoping to get their hands on his phone. Hazarding a quick glance, she was somewhat disappointed, their stern passivity persisted.

“Duly noted, Detective, however…” Monroe paused effectively for one of the agents to take over.

“...However,” Agent Jeffs continued in a smooth monotone, “Our case takes precedent, Ma’am. If one of our agents is missing, presumed dead, we must act accordingly. We are, of course, willing to assist you in any way, pending review of the items in question.”

Oh they were good. It was like some twisty-turny political thriller, but she was no Brad Thor, no Vince Flynn, none of those fantastic leaps of faiths or suspensions of disbeliefs that would allow her to win spectacularly against the odds. This was real…and Monroe believed their credentials and story point blank; would give them exactly what they wanted—including, quite possibly, Miryam Sealgair and her family.

“This missing agent… was possibly involved in the murder of a person of interest in my original case. Blood evidence places him at the scene of a house another body in our case was connected to in recent weeks—therefore, I would **_think_** …your agency could appreciate why I need the confiscated materials. We do want the same thing, right?,’ She added as another dig to gauge their responses. Both just looked at her as though she was a child meddling in adult affairs. That emboldened her. “We do know his name. Scott Travis, 34, from Colorado Springs. Attempting to track down family and acquaintances now.”

“I wasn’t aware of that.” said Munroe, clearly intrigued and impressed by the news, but it was Hawkins and Jeffs’ response that interested Chloe. Most tellingly, their complete blanking of any expression at all at the mention of Travis’ name. Her first strike to draw blood.

 “A recent development,” Chloe smiled.

“And more than enough to continue your investigation.” replied Jeffs with just a hint of testy unease.

She added her own, rubbing their faces in it, “Actually no. Scott Travis worked for your agency for two years before taking a medical leave of absence. That vehicle is registered to the Imperial Beach Division of the Border Patrol and Customs motor pool. Until we get word from that station’s quartermaster regarding a missing Yukon Denali from their fleet, or…you two somehow get word from the quartermaster for us…I suggest you stop impeding our investigation by wasting my time with this pissing match.”

“Detective Decker.” Monroe stood. “That’s enough. You’re dismissed. I will handle it from here.”

Nobody had to tell her twice. If looks could kill, she’d already be dead by the agents, let alone Monroe, but at least Monroe’s was tempered with a glimmer of respect for Chloe having the balls to say what the Lieutenant only wished she could.

She didn’t rush, she didn’t look back, but the minute she was free of the prying eyes of those witnessing her cool retreat from Monroe’s office, Chloe Decker booked it to the nearest bathroom. A quick splash of ice cold water on her face and several deep breathing exercise later, she was able to retrieve her phone without risking dropping it. The voice recorder chugged along, the frequency waves on the screen fluctuating with the imprint of her breathing and movement. She hit paused then done, saving it for later. Then she took Tomlin’s card from her pocket and dialed his number, saving it under a different name—yes, goddamn it, she was that paranoid.

Sinking against the first stall partition, she hummed anxiously as Tomlin’s phone rang without answer. Finally, “Chloe?.”

“Derek, where are you?”

“Stuck in a traffic, why?”

“Are you close enough to turn around?”

“No, almost to my office. What’s up.”

Chloe tried not to sound hopeless, “You’re not going to believe this…”

“Try me.”

“They’re here.”

His alarm was immediate, “Who’s there?”

“The—the others, well two of them. I only saw two, I dunno if there’s more, I got out as soon as I could to call you.”

“You’re saying there are two **_assassins_** at the station?”

“I dunno—you tell me: one minute you’re telling me there’s no one I can trust, and the next two gorillas touting the same marks as our dead assassin waltz in and demand his shit?”

 “Fuck! Yeah, okay…that is—.”

“Bad. Don’t have to say it: **_I_** just talked to them. I mean, their act is…is spot on, I feel like I’m in some shitty summer thriller that’s getting shittier by the minute and refuses to end. They look legit, the credentials are good, Monroe believes them...” She was starting to ramble. Stopping and restarting at a succinct point, she said, “I think they’re trying to figure out how Travis screwed up: they want the stuff recovered yesterday.”

“And your Lieutenant is handing it over, right?”

“No. I stopped her—I told all of them we know exactly who Scott is. Gave her a reason to fight to keep it.”

Tomlin was floored, “That’s ballsy, Detective. Now they’re going to have to kill you.”

“Again, not helpful.”

She heard him audibly swallow, a hard click of uncertainty “Are they still there?—Are you safe, is what I’m asking?”

“For now,” looking miserably around the toiletry surroundings, “In the shitter, actually, no joke.”

Tomlin laughed bleakly. “Great.”

“They’re still here; were…a couple minutes ago, haggling with Monroe over access to evidence. That’s the part I don’t get—if they were phonies, no matter how good the act, why stick around?”

“Recon, awareness of target…and maintaining legend to point of breaking if need be. To perfection, every time.”

“Or we’re both nuts…and they really are from Homeland Security’s Directorate of Management coming to collect the personal effects of an agent gone off the reservation. You said Travis took off after his medical leave three months ago—if he suddenly showed up and triggered something somewhere he hadn’t…and ended up dead, they’d come out like this…right?”

Tomlin didn’t respond for a moment, gnawing silence enveloping the other end. She tilted her head into the phone, “Something I said?”

“…Yeah,” He responded carefully. “Actually. They identified themselves just like that, from DHS’ DoM?”

“In English, actually, not fed-speak, but yeah they did.”

“What names did they give.”

“Hawkins and Jeffs.”

Tomlin had an idea cooking for sure. He confirmed it was a satisfied mutter, “Stupid assholes, that’s beautiful.”

“Derek,” she said with forced patience, “Use your words. Explain.”

“Look…they just gave us an extremely narrow pool of fish to paw through by identifying themselves as from just one area of Homeland. In all likelihood, they probably did work in the DoM once, it’s comfortable for them to use a legend they know rather than not. But they don’t know I’m here and that I know they’re here too. So I’m going to call my buddies and ask them point blank if any agents Hawkins and Jeffs from the DOM division were dispatched to the LAPD for liaison. If they’re real, you’ve got nothing to worry about except the feds are taking over. If they’re fake…well, then we have bigger problems obviously. Detective, I need you to hang tight for a sec—I’m gonna hang up, but I’ll call you back soon as I can. “

He did just that, her half spoken insistences hung up on too.

 He called back five minutes later to a slow burning fuse on the other end. “Bad news. I have to ask you do something really dumb.”

Chloe rolled her eyes, “Let me guess…”

“Follow them.”

“Yep, knew it.”

He apologized, sounding rushed, “My friend has to call DoM to confirm.”

“Time we don’t have to waste—I get it. Sure you can’t get back?”

“Turning around now.”

“Well, hurry. I’m about to do something dumb and it’s your fault, so—.”

“Get their plates too, alright? Just in case they do get away?”

She stopped, pulled the phone from her ear to glare at it, “Anything else?”

“Be subtler? That helps…”

“You sound like Lucifer Morningstar, you know that?”

 Taking a deep breath, Chloe left the bathroom, ambling nice and cool back to her desk, observing the Lieutenant’s closed door. Observing the detective who’d retrieved her from the conference room earlier, she called to him and jerked her head back to the door, “Still in there?”

The man looked at her and grunted, disinterested and disgusted. “Yep. Well done, Decker.”

She knew most of her colleagues didn’t care Graham had somehow survived his injuries they viewed her fault, didn’t care he was dirty as the day was long and Chloe was going to prove it, wouldn’t care too much if he was and she did, it was still, and always and forever would be, the fact she blew the whistle in the first place. The good ol’ boys club intact.

“Thanks, Bob,’ she replied cheerfully, the exact opposite tone he was hoping for. At her side, she kept her phone’s screen facing her leg, the falsely named contact for Tomlin still flashing on speaker. Turning her back to the rest of the floor, she pretended to gather her notes and reports from the case, as if preparing to hand them over. She shielded her next move to raise the speaker to her lips, disguising it from the back as a contemplative gesture, but really to murmur, “Still in with Monroe.”

He grunted a response but he then added in a whispered, “Still stuck. No call from DHS—will have to hang up when he does.”

Monroe’s door opened. Chloe dropped the phone to against her leg again, turning smoothly with her materials gripped in one hand.

Hawkins and Jeffs left first, their grim frowns signaling a moral victory, because they were indeed leaving empty hand. They must have seen Chloe in their peripheral vision, they just didn’t act on it—remaining deep in character. Monroe watched them go, lips moving to a smug sneer at their backs. “Cocksuckers.” She muttered contemptuously. She looked to Decker. “Put it away, Decker. I got us another day with it, but after that…it’s gone. So do whatever you’re going to do fast.”

Chloe thanked her, the ultimatum weighing heavily—is that all the time they had left for real? She waited for Monroe to return inside her office, then dropped her things back down and ran after her targets. She has an elevator ride behind them, so she took the stairs, running as fast as she could.

“Detective?” Tomlin’s voice called from the phone. “You alright? You sound--.”

“If you say winded,” she snapped, “I swear, Derek--.”

“All right, all right,” he backed off, his own sigh hissing on the speaker, “You always this uptight?”

“You sure you haven’t been hanging out with Lucifer?”

“No, but if you could, like, arrange a meeting? That guy’s a walking STD waiting to happen, more than enough research there, if I could just talk to him--.”

“Derek!”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Chloe slammed the emergency exit bar to make the ground floor of the police precinct. The lobby was busy with uniforms, civilians, and others, making her head count all the more difficult. She spotted her two at the doors, taking their sweet time by the looks of it—Jeffs had his phone glued to his ear, nodding, tight lip in his short one-word response. Hawkins watched his back, sweeping the masses. Chloe ducked, turning her back just as his eyes would have found her.

“I got them.”

Tomlin’s joking manner vanished. “Alright. Great. Stay low. There’s no call yet. Can you possibly get their pictures?”

She ducked a glance back. They were still at the front doors, Jeffs’ face slowly peaking to cold outrage. Whatever his caller was saying, it had his balls in a vice…

“I can try.”

The tension in Tomlin’s voice doubled, “They’re calling me back—get their photos.”

Chloe’s heart pounded as she exposed herself to Hawkin’s gaze, ducking and dodging where she could in the throngs to discreetly pop off three shots of the two, waiting and silently prodding for each to face the camera.

Only on the fourth shot of Jeffs, still on his phone, he happened to flick his gaze in her direction over his partner’s shoulder. She froze, a deer in the headlights caught with her phone raised in the awkwardly unmistakable position of sniping a shot. He stared, Hawkins turned to join him…burying her under a pair of withering gazes.

There was no call back from Tomlin, she was made…and they were leaving. Chloe cursed whatever grace of God had kept up with her so far in the case. Now that they were wise, she had to keep far behind them, allowing a painfully large gap to grow between their departure and hers.

In her pocket, Scott Travis’ cellphone weighed heavier than ever before.

She was not going to let them escape.

Surging forward to catch up with their rapidly widening distance once outside, the two half-giants stood out as the approached an equally oversize Chevy Suburban, blacked out like the Denali was. She buried her chin low to her chest for cover, zipping the photos she had taken to Tomlin in a hastily punched text.

Ricocheting thoughts of her daughter and her life as she knew it ending by a government conspiracy churned, flipflopping her stomach and painfully twisting her heart in summersaults as she made her final approach, phone case slicked wet with sweat from her palm.

All that ceased to matter when squealing tires from the street screeched into the LAPD’s parking lot, undercarriages of Department of Homeland Security marked Ford Expeditions and Explorers bottoming out as they hit curbs and over at full speed. Chloe froze, watching the oscillating blue and red strobes on their dashes and grills with a fair amount of civvie awe.

Tomlin had come through in spades.

The response stunned the two giants as well. She saw them reaching for their side arms when their Suburban was completely surrounded. Tomlin’s warning about these soldiers doing what needed to be done without mercy dropped her stomach and heart together. She moved to pull hers in defense. The impact of this spectacle froze everyone else in the vicinity as well, until conscientious uniforms snapped to and joined their federal brothers’ backs as available to help. It was then the two decided the numbers were just too much against them…and gestured surrender. The rough handling they received from the real DHS agents now shutting down a perimeter around the arrest gave Chloe a sharp jab of smug satisfaction.

The fact she’d just help bag two possibly assassins, cutting out a sizeable chunk of this kill squad’s capacity to do their worst, ballooned that pride. She saw Jeffs staring back at her as he was cuffed and lurched toward the nearest Expedition. Hawkins joined him as before. Combined, the weight of wanting for revenge punched at her. Their shark eyes promised they’d still get what they wanted.

Tomlin called her back just then. She forced herself to walk away, the raised voices and hollers of an on edge and confused scene the backdrop of this conversation.

“Derek! What the hell did you do?” demanded Chloe immediately. “There’s, like, five DHS vehicles in our parking lot.”

“Did they get ‘em?”

More weight lifted away from her shoulders as she shook her head and watched the Expedition carrying the new prisoners peeled out. The rest of the crew headed into the station. The Chief of Police would be arriving soon, too, for damage control. This was suddenly huge…and career changing for so many, Chloe included.

“This is huge. How are we going to maneuver with this kind of attention?”

“Don’t worry about it—clear case of ‘See Something, Say Something’: I’m legitimately out of favors as a whole with the DHS, but…it’s not going to come back to you, or your case. I pinned it all on Scott.”

“How, what did you tell them?”

“…that Scott contacted me with a job offer out of the blue after years apart from the Navy, and it sounded suspicious. I declined.  When his blood was found at an active crime scene, his vehicle abandoned, and then two more supposed DHS guys come looking for him? I thought in hindsight it was extra hinky. So I did my civic duty. If they want to question me on, they can. They’ll hit my record’s sealed roadblock, the Navy’ll take it up…and that’s that. My last favor I pulled out of my ass got the friends still left from this slash and burn to cover the plotholes in there. See? No worries. I come in handy, don’t I?”

“Ha, yeah, now who’s ballsy? I don’t know how to thank you for all this.”

“Later, when this is over.” He sounded amused…even flirtatious. “With dinner. How’s that, Detective? Fair?”

Chloe cocked a new look at her phone’s screen: interested intrigue. Hm. Not the most ideal timing, but acceptably smooth...and kinda sweet. “You know, Doctor, I’ll have to think about that.”

“That’s fair too. Let me know what you hear. I’m still stuck near my office, so I’m just going to head back to work, but Monroe’s about to get a new asshole via nasty candy gram from our fearless Chief; kinda don’t want to miss that…Call you later.”

Chloe immediately thought of how Lucifer manipulated Monroe a couple months back with the Benny Chu case, where a gang war almost started from two old rivals evening a score Lucifer let happen in the first place. Benny Chu couldn’t escape that charge like he did the first. Now Monroe wouldn’t be getting the Chief of Police gig Lucifer so handily wrapped up for her.

 Karma and human nature met Lucifer’s blackmarket dealing…and won. Time and place always caught up it. Right now, it was in Chloe Decker’s favor. 30 hours from now would upend the unfolding story all over again.


	26. An Unholy Alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short. As I called it to my co-author: a meager offering. 
> 
> Writer's block, she giveths and takeths away with impunity...

_**5:00pm** _

_**25 Hours to go** _

_**LUX...** _

Late afternoon crept over LUX like a shadow over a wall. Damien would never have noticed the day’s end growing nearer if his body didn’t helpfully ache in reminder: a bloody long ass 24 hours, digging in for the long haul.

Andre’s sickroom remained closed off from the rest of the club, darkened and quiet for his younger brother’s benefit, except for the alternating hiss and drip of the in-home intravenous machine stationed at bedside supplying much needed fluids.

Having taken charge of the scene hours earlier, Damien hadn’t left Andre’s side since, studiously monitoring Draco’s efforts. The Dragon was the only other person he hadn’t banished the moment he and Miriam had arrived on the heels of that ominous call hinting at the Little Dragon’s condition, Miryam the first to be turned away. When they saw the full scale of savagery Michael and Gabriel had left behind on their Chosen Ones, a battle of wills between the Lady and her Firebird erupted. One Damien had assumed could be discounted as nonissue. If Miryam’s escape in the night had been the save Andre, why would she run right at him now, when he was even more vulnerable?

 “Get out of my way, brother.” Her shove actually hurt, but he hadn’t budged. “He needs me!”

He recalled the dismay he’d held for her logic: was she so desperately laid to waste by this madness she didn’t remember what she’d done, what Michael had almost made her do? “And yet…” He’d so reminded her of this with a grinding whisper in her ear, so hard it fluffed the hair cresting her face out of the way as the words physically hit her, “… a scant hour ago, you admitted to me you were so overwhelmed by the desire to kill him...you stole the Old Dragon’s car and ran as far and fast as you could.”

Miryam bore down on him in accusation, equal parts wrath and bleeding compassion. He was unmoved.

“How do I know, Miry…how can I be sure,” He’d stressed this crucial quandary, “That your link to Michael…and that rage of his won’t overwhelm you when you see your twin? For all I know, Gabriel and Michael are just seconds away up there from killing each other, and you’re a—a mortar round on earth for him to hurl at Andre to take down his twin. I don’t, Miry, that’s the thing. Do you love me so little,” He’d softly cajoled in her hair as he drew her in, the cracks in her fragile hold on strength spiderwebbing, the waterworks back online, “That you would put me in that position, one of you for the other? I would ** _die_** first.”

It did the ruthless trick, turning the screws of her personal torment into acceptance. A small gasp escaped her as she flinched in his arms and dug her nails into his back. Hearing him invoke death on himself so close to Andre’s brush with it was too much to bear without that cool resilience Michael’s actions had stripped her of. She broke from him, emotions drained to husks, cold and hugging herself. “You’ll tell him I’m here…that I’m sorry I wasn’t there when he needed me?”

Lucifer took charge of her. At any other time, Damien would have punched his lights out for the way he was manipulating her at her lowest, for whispering those sweet promises as only the Devil could in her ear. Here, they were a welcomed distraction, so he let them go off together.

His focus on the present returned, tunneling his gaze to the black leather moto jacket folded at the end of the bed, removed an hour into the vigil. Damien shifted his stance, knees stiff from standing so long. His deep chested v-neck tee, jeans, and Timberlands were the usual for his casual wear. The wrinkles steam pressed on weren’t, clothing and otherwise. This exhaustion was bone deep. He just refused to show Andre as much when what the boy needed was strength. Worn as he was, Damien managed to cut an impressively striking figure. Had he the energy, he would have definitely mustered something more than a sullen stare from the door as Draco now readied to remove the IV in Andre’s arm.

Andre gingerly sat up when he was untethered, band aid and gauze patch secured in the crook of his elbow. Draco rolled the IV machine away to give him room. Testing the limits of his body after the torment it weathered, and wincing at its response, he gallantly covered with: “’Bout time. Wuzz fine two hours ago…”

“You were not.”

The headiness of Damien’s presence whiplashed the bedroom. The Firebird’s normal was intimidating. Angered or upset, he was the force of nature he was born to be. Now, standing sentinel as he was over him, Andre got a glimpse into the heart of this storm: bronzed skin zipped pink under the heat of his simmering temper, huge arms bunched across a hulking chest, all but vibrating under the strain of control. Blazing blue eyes guilting Andre until he scooted back under covers, meek and very sorry.

Draco demurely signaled he wished to speak to the man in private. Like Miryam, Damien was a reigning monarch of a realm the Dragon was tied to; he was a respectful loyal subject to his core, and although his long service to this family was honorable and familial, they were not equals. “Master Damien, a word.”

They retreated from the sick room to speak. Outside, Damien’s lips pinched sourly, hands settling on well-defined hips under the hug of jeans. “Well.”

“He is recovering. He’s rehydrated and relatively rested, but the wound in his side is not healing. I’ve stitched it well…unfortunately your new vulnerability appears to be worsening. Now, I am wholly sympathetic to your family’s plight and I…don’t assume to tell you how you should handle this, but I do recommend prudence. Andre and Miryam are hurting, sire, as you are.”

Damien scoured his face, not at all softening, “So…treat them as I would want to be treated if it was me, is that it?”

“Is that so much to ask of you? You would be setting a huge precedent in a family where such respect is sorely lacking.”

“Respect.” Damien mummed his lips to a bitterly sarcastic line. “Heh. That’s not the only thing this family is missing.”

Draco prudently held his tongue, instead calmly invoking one of his many privileges as steward to this family. “Permission to call the Archangel Rafael?” Rafael, the second youngest Archangel, Healer, and Uriel’s twin, was close to Draco—his loud boisterous demeanor a source of great amusement to the Dragon, their past together punctuated by many a pub crawl. When Uriel was unable to join his human charge to dispense invaluable advice, Rafael plugged that hole, though he would never be what Uriel was to Damien, and both Rafael and Draco respected that. On the whole, the four had a comfortable synergy, and Draco recognized the need for its influence here.

The prospect of seeing his angel’s twin so soon after allowing Uriel to return to a potentially life threatening situation engraved those wrinkles deeper into Damien’s forehead. Standing on proud principle of not running to the angels the second shit hit the fan a hard first shot to skip taking. The hard wrought tension shifted to a contained knot of indecision between his shoulders. For that reason alone—obnoxiously narcissistic hubris---their world was crumbling, God didn’t give a damn, and the angels who loved and protected them forced to shed kin’s blood.

If Damien found one logical lesson out of all this madness, it was pride really did come before a Fall. Such a Fall they couldn’t afford in an already expensive game. He had to cut losses and run; save what he could. That meant getting dirty and playing by rules he once tried to hide from when the immediate felt so safe and the external too big to handle: family.

 “Call him. Then get Miry and Lucifer up here.”

At first, the Dragon was unsure if he heard the order correctly. It was clear by his facial movements he was replaying the wording in his head and still coming up short. “Pardon me, sire…but…Lu—Lucifer? You…want me…to put Archangel and the Devil in the same room? Rafael and Lucifer together.”

Damien was frank, “How many different ways can you phrase what I just ordered before it stops confusing you, Draco. Yes. Lucifer and Rafael in the same room. I’ll explain, but for now, just…get him here for Andre.”

The Dragon accepted the blunt shutdown, bowing his head to recite a softly spoken stream of Enochian incantations, murmuring them in a lyrical chant. When he was done, he raised his head to whisper, “He’s on his way. Excuse me, sire.”

Rafael arrived without the usual fanfare or time stoppage, just a soft whisper of feathers well within Damien’s sphere of reasonable personal space. He was cloaked in a reel of fabric that was like a splash of ink, its full length cascading in a liquidy blotch off meaty shoulders and down a broad back. Underneath, a silver and ebony suit of skin tight armor material encased a body of muscles stockpiled on top of more muscles. His dark mischievous eyes and strong square jaw matched his twin’s, but the rustic outdoorsy vibe he gave off was like no one else’s, angel or man.

 “Damien.” His sandpapery voice ground Damien in a way that Uriel’s departure had unmoored him.

“Rafael.”

Rafael’s wings delicately folded from sight as he circled the man, taking in the rough edges. “You look bloody awful.”

Damien curtly noted the huge broadsword attached to his hip. “And you’re armed for bear…Raffi. You know as well as I do…it’s been a shit 24 hours.”

Rafael regarded him sympathetically, clasping his shoulder with the same. “Amen to that.” He gave a cursory search of the hall. “Where’s the Old Dragon?”

“He’ll be back shortly.” He gestured to the room beyond them. “Give me a minute?”

Andre watched Damien return, taking stock in the dynamic paradox of fluidity and rigidity of his movements. The power of the Phoenix shifted its weight under his skin, sizzling the air around him. Smoldering in pale flames, invisible phoenix wings lifting and falling in his steps. It was exhilaratingly terrifying to be under its attentions.

Not that he’d forgotten what a dynamo Damien was: brutally handsome in one light, a soft gooey golden teddy bear in others, it was just startling, this depth of new pathos. Andre cleared his throat under the intense scrutiny, “Forgot to say thanks…for…you know… coming so quickly earlier. It was nice to wake up and see my big bro here.”

Damien took up parade rest, his hands clasped primly in front of his body, not buying the smooth delivery. “I bet. Like I said, we’ll discuss that.”

Andre shouldn’t even be apologizing; what Gabriel did was not his business. Not any longer apparently. Didn’t help the burn of regret in his cheeks he felt as Damien again look away from the bottoming out in Andre’s gaze now that he saw his ‘big bro’ didn’t care as much as wanted him to.

“Before we do, I’m giving you every benefit your father had when he and Michael decided to play Mortal Kombat with our lives, because that’s a kindness family shows one another when we make mistakes that hurt.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means we’re all we got, little bro. So let’s start acting like it—no more secrets, no mare blames games, and no more bullshit. Meaning… I’m letting Rafael heal your ass so you’ll be up to the challenge. Cool?”

Rafael phased into the room, an angelic gift of bending time and space to cover distances in a mere blink of a mortal eye. Andre’s wide-eyed fish look rewarded ample opportunity for ribbing.

“Andre. Seems I’m always finding you on your backside, aren’t I? Mouth open and drooling too.” In regards to those many pub crawls with Draco, the Little Dragon used to fit right in. Gabriel took up the rear to steady the tempestuous wanderings Raffi often dragged the boy through, usually failing to the tune of an armful of drunk human.

Ignoring the iceberg chill the boy mustered up for the occasion, Rafael dropped his cape from his shoulders to toss it over the bed and stroll up pretty as you please to yank the covers off Andre without a shred of bedside manner.

“Hey!” Andre wore boxers but his hands spasmed in the act of covering himself all the same.  “Dude, the fuck!”

“You heard your brother: I’m healing your ass cos he wants the adults to have a conversation here. That includes you, buttercup…damn me if I agree with him, though…” He muttered, prodding the bandages covering the wound, a nasty hotness seeping through them.

“Ow!” Andre slapped at his hands. “Look, Raffi, thanks and all but PERSONAL SPACE, yeah? I am an ADULT,” He shot Damien a look, “And I can take the third degree, holes or no holes.”

“Oh really?” Rafael cocked his head in false deliberation. “Hm.”  Fingering an unpeeled edge to the compress, “Funny, don’t see it myself.”, he pulled. The sound of adhesive ripping on skin punctuated over Andre’s loud and vehement reaction. “But then…I’m not a Chosen One. With huge, world-saving responsibilities. Am I?”

“No,” Andre agreed through his teeth, a mouthful of blue curses fighting alongside the pain for release, “But you are a dick. And a bigger one than Michael. Congratulations.”

Rafael smiled sweetly, harrumphing and laying his hands over the infected stitching. “And here you used to call that my ‘sunny disposition’.”

Familiar smoky amber light pooled over Rafael’s heart as he tapped into the Grace and the Light of his powers, pulling the blessed energy from his chest up to his shoulder and down his arm into his palm.

The force of the permeating energy clenched Andre’s body into a stiff plank. A warm and tingly afterglow like morphine relaxed him into a puddle of mushy bonelessness. As the healing light dissipated, Rafael kept covering the now mended patch of skin, outwardly concentrating as if he was reading something particularly difficult. Andre squirmed, really ready to be done with this.

“Raffi? Think we’re good, man. You can, uh, stop touching me?”

Damien stepped up, intuitively sensing there was something off about this part of the procedure. He took the angel’s elbow, “Rafael, you alright?”

Rafael come out of his trance by the hand on his arm, blinking twice as he stepped away from the bed in an almost embarrassed rush. “Uh, yea, sorry about that. No, uh, he’s good. You’re good, Andre.”

Out of natural curiosity, Andre checked his side, feeling the smooth skin where deep gouge had been—not a single fiber out of place.

Rafael retrieved his cloak, securing it without any visible clasps or clips, the material seamlessly melding with the armor plating.

 “Wait,” Andre sat up, “You’re not leaving, are you? You just got here.”

“Draco called me to heal you. You’re healed. Besides…you don’t want to see me, Andre. Not really. I could tell that much by the way you looked at me when I appeared.”

“You jackass, I was just startled! Damien, c’mon,” Andre turned to his brother for support, seeing Damien wanted the archangel to stay too: he had that devouring gaze going on, the one he got when Uriel wouldn’t go along with a particularly plan of his…. “You called him, make him stay.”

“…Actually,” Damien took the unexpected detour lightly considering the gravity of the turn. “You wish to leave because Lucifer is here.”

The archangel bobbed introspectively on his heels, taking the obvious on the chin with acerbic sardonicism, plainly wondering if Damien had gone daffy too.  “Well, chyeah. ‘Course. I don’t make it a habit, you know, to see the one person I don’t want to even think about. So what?”

Damien’s next smile was eerie. “And that’s exactly why you’re staying.”

Rafael’s face instantly fell. Poignant waves of distress speared the other two. An inherent trait to Archangel was projection of emotion, which were already more volatile and unpredictable than any other type of angel. Rafael was the biggest offender, almost bipolar in his mood swings. The Firebird stood his ground as Rafael fully invaded his personal space again, this time with mal intent and a hair-raising growl that scraped the back of his throat.

“Excuse me?”

“Think about it, Raffi. This mess started, like it or not, with your family. You all made it fashionable to betray and lie to one another, and have a scapegoat ready for the Fall. Precedent and patterns, everything your Father thrives on. I have no illusions of making it out of this in one piece—not after last night and today, not if Michael and Gabriel are throwing down against each other already. The least I can do, with the time I have left, is mend a couple fences for a unified front. Make the Old Man think twice for a change. I didn’t trick you coming down here, okay? I wouldn’t do that, but hafta start somewhere, don’t we? From what Uriel has told me…you tried to talk Lucifer out of his war. You loved him that much you went behind the others’ backs before the Fall. You tried to save him.”

Rafael growled like a cornered animal, “And I failed! You weren’t there. You didn’t see him tear us to pieces! You have no right to preach to me about this!”

That formidable Phoenix temper sizzled fresh. “I’m seeing your father do the same to us! I **_do_** have the right. And I have all the same right to stop it!” Damien hardened up his shell, “ …Just stay. You don’t have to open your mouth or anything—standing in the same room with him is enough for me.”

Rafael scoffed, “Enough for you.” He rolled his eyes to the ceiling in search of revelation, “Father help me, Damien, you’re a bloody walking paradigm of asinine self-righteousness…”

“Big words, Raffi.” The victory was hollow—Rafael rarely refused him much. He smirked, “Knew I could count on you.”

Rafael’s shoulders drooped in kind, resigned to the inevitability. “Christ…” He deliberately removed his cloak, dropping it in a pool on the bed and dragging his hands down his face in a hard scrub.

Andre darted a look between his older brother and the archangel, still grappling, “Wait. Hold up. Damien. You’re…putting Archangel in the same room with the Devil? …MY room?!” He starting throw off blankets, scooting to the edge of the bed, reaching blindly for a robe. “Jesus Christ, fuck that, I’m out.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not?! Fuck’s sake, you can’t just throw those two together---!”

“Well, he is!” Rafael snapped, ending the argument there. “I can take it, so sit back and shut up.”

All three bucked up on the sprinting footsteps and breathlessly happy cries of Rafael’s name from Miryam when she rushed the room a few moments later, greeting him with the biggest hug a little sprite like her could manage on the giant. He brightened at her arrival, momentarily forgetting he had a reunion of the millennia ahead of him as he awkwardly folded around her petite frame.

“Aye, there’s my favorite queen…!”

He smelled like sandlewood and lightening, the cleansing scents invading her nose as she buried her face. “Raffi! Thank the All-Father…”

Rafael smiled fondly down at her…and the fact she only came up to his stomach or there abouts, “Hello, Little One. A bit of a rough go today, eh?”

Her long hair messily pulled from her loose ponytail, porcelain cheeks drained translucent, starkly outlining her reddened lids and blood shot eyes. The hours hadn’t rested her like they had Andre. Matted and unshowered, she resembled a bedraggled cat after a particularly long night of tomcatting.

“Are you alright?” Characteristically more concerned about others’ wellbeing’s rather than her own, she pulled away to stand on tiptoes while he ducked to allow her to cup his stubbly cheeks to see for herself. “Michael…he—he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Rafael kissed the crown of her head in assurance. “No, Little One. He didn’t. Promise—Uriel and I are fine. Should be asking if you’re alright. Couldn’t have been easy for you.”

Lucifer was only a step behind her but she wasn’t nearly as worried about what was to happen next as the others were. Andre was downright scared. Damien had a momentary lapse in bravado, licking his lips, reaching for Rafael in a muted attempted to signal a retreat. Too late. The unmistakable voice of the devil rose over them.

“Finding out the Old Man has given you the boot?”

Lucifer ungraciously took center stage, commanding the room with a single flash of the eyes in Rafael’s general direction.

“Easy is a vast understatement, brother. Trrrryyyy…devastating.”

The crackle of energetically bad blood electrified the room, immensely foreboding in magnitude. Fallen and Graced, oldest brother and younger brother, sized up each other with taciturn disgust for the first time in several eons.

Damien preemptively removed Miryam from Rafael and tucked her to his side, just in case, while Draco, arriving behind Lucifer, sidestepped to the bed, ready to grab Andre from the line of fire.

 Lucifer tightened the leash on the room’s energy, briskly arch in tone. “May I remind you all whose earthly domain this is? Bloody inviting flea infested rats with wings into my home is not your prerogative, Damien, damn your princely inclinations for otherwise.”

“Lucifer.” Rafael easily retook control, corralling the rest of the occupants behind him. “He meant no disrespect. Andre needed healing, that’s all.”

 Alluded to before by Damien, Lucifer and Rafael’s history was the same as with all his younger archangel siblings: adored him once, the extreme epitome of perfection. Lucifer’s sharp wit and intelligence always playing well off Rafael’s folksier view of Creation; the comedian to Lucifer’s straight man.

Before the Fall, Rafael was last Archangel to see Lucifer as he and Michael met in their cage match for the glory and honor of Heaven. He begged his brother to heel…take back the Words he’d spoken in spite, go to Father and kneel: to Him, to man, to the Host.

 Lucifer **_laughed_** at his faith in God’s mercy.

_I gave them the choice, Rafael: chained to Father’s Love or the chance to be free and live as they want, do as they want: eat, drink, fornicate, WHATEVER. For the first time, we have created something we can’t control—and that’s exciting! If it scares you all so much Dad wants my head, so be it. But remember what I did, remember how I fought for our family. I did this out of love. I did this, all of this, for us. Father had to be held accountable for abandoning us for them…and He made me capable of doing it! Don’t forget that, either. Mercy…there is no mercy. There’s only lies and hypocrisy. Question everything, take nothing for granted, and for the love of this Family, Raffi, keep one eye over your shoulder—a knife may be buried in it sooner than you think._

Rafael never forgot…and would never forgive. From that point on, he became strictly a brother first and an archangel second, when before it had been blind devotion to duty. Duty shouldn’t concern any of them, not really. Their expendability in its name, though, that should. His validation came when Uriel died in Vega...and he'd begrudgingly harbored conflicted feelings about Lucifer sice--here, it was just easier to embrace the loathing, ignore the voice that said Lucifer was right all the way.

Lucifer’s memories of their last meeting were the same. He just held onto them for much less sentimental reasons. The skin around his eyes tightened to crows’ feet, his stance loosely confident and easy against the being before him, a threat to be tackled. “It’s been a long time…Rafael.”

“Not nearly long enough. You look…smaller.”

“Perhaps you’ve just gotten larger. Always were a chunky monkey, weren’t you?”

“Your mouth hasn’t changed, that’s for sure.”

 “Andre’s healed, isn’t he. Shouldn’t you be leaving…if that’s all you came here for?”

“Damien asked me here—it’s his right to send me away if he wants. Don’t think he does. In fact, he asked I stay. Take it up with him.”

Lucifer squinted at the challenge. “This isn’t Damien’s home—as I said.”

“You’re not a Chosen One and you’re no Morning Star.” Rafael circled him now, well within striking distance. “I don’t have to listen to a damn thing you say.”

Lucifer pivoted on his encirclement, pupils sparking scarlet in hellfire. “I can ** _make_** you listen.”

“I can make you **_bleed_**.”

“Get in line: Dad’s already went there. Go on, give it another turn, surely you have something up those big sleeves of yours to make me shake in m’boots.”

“Give me a good reason I can’t refuse.”

The spiraling downward intensified with each riff thrown. This was not going the way he wanted…and exactly as he envisioned in that moment of doubt. Damien raised his voice to be heard over their provoking. “Guys--.”

Lucifer lowered his, whipping that zinging energy into a dangerously frothy whirlwind. “I can make you ** _beg_** for your **_life_**.”

Rafael glared up at him through his lashes. “You don’t have the power, brother. Only a graced angel can kill another.” He rolled his shoulders back in proud defiance, minutely opening himself up, “By all means, let’s take a tumble. I need a good laugh.”

Just as Lucifer made it silently but abundantly clear he was obliging, jaw setting in a vicious snarl of ‘Bastard!’, Damien fortuitously snapped the tension in half with a sudden and forceful authoritarian bark. The recoil made both parties flinch. “Enough!”

Rafael spat at him without breaking his staring contest with his brother. “Damn it all, Damien, **_you_** did this! What did you expect?!”

“Yes,” Lucifer concurred in a petulant drawl, staying his hand while still wandering laterally in at Rafael, “What ** _did_** you expect, Damien.”

Damien planted himself between the two adversaries. “I expect!…a little intelligence from beings made of God’s Light! Even you, Lucifer, even you… ** _especially_** you, should see a fruitless fight when you see one. We’re being exterminated! For PRICIESLY this reason: right here—hate, animosity, grudges, fractures in the foundations. Give it up, Lucifer. Because when we’re dead?” He shoved his finger in Lucifer’s face, “You’re next—and don’t think He won’t do it.”

That put a sincere damper on the Devil’s desires to remake Rafael’s face.  “Exactly. I **_don’t_**. Do you really think…He’d kill me now, a couple million years after the fact? I mean, after all, if you’re going to go on and on about saving this bloody family, DO recall the fact Dad made us all into exactly what He wanted of us!”

Damien called his bluff, “Cheap talk walks, Lucifer: **_You_** think Daddy’s cleaning house,” The previously unspoken revelation Lucifer had privately been stewing about abruptly made public skewered him right in the delicate places of his ego, deflating it and him in a big blustery loss of words.

“Oh yes.” The Firebird replied smugly, correctly reading the stammering, “I know. How do I know that? Don’t see that it matters—plenty of theories going around. I’ll wager even Uriel’s is along those same lines.”

“It is.” Rafael snappily supplied, still a hair trigger away from throwing the first punch in the brawl for the ages.

“Well,” Damien shrugged, aggressively good natured, stepping in to bump chests with the Devil to back him down the rest of the way, playing the room like a string wound taunt to a tightrope, “See? Whatever your old man wants, Lucifer, you better believe your ass is in the fire too. Favorite or no favorite, destiny or no destiny, you’re dead too…we don’t come together as a family. Fight together, or watch the others die as your turn comes. Your choice. I have a feeling…a distinctly self-preserving feeling…you’ll make the right one.”


	27. The Things We Said Today P1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hierarchy of Birth for the Archangels and Lucifer here is the one used by Dominion creator Vaun Wilmott: Lucifer, Gabriel, Michael, Rafael, Uriel.

**_6:00pm_ **

**_Still Day 2…_ **

In the six hours since the ordeal at the precinct, Derek Tomlin moved several more mountains. Instead of looming large on his horizon, they covered his back in the rear view mirror of his current life.

He thought he could just go back to Assistant Coroner-Medical Examiner, lie low otherwise, and be happy everything would eventually go back to normal. That hope died an hour after he’d hung up with Detective Decker for the last time. The City went on lockdown, the media swooping in like vultures on a fresh kill. Government conspiracies and Big Brother Gone Bad in a political atmosphere such as the one they were living in now, with trust on the decline and paranoia on the rise, was a jackpot scoop, good for several weeks of coverage. Decker had been on to something when she said the attention would be too much.

They would come to talk to him eventually, they had to—protocols and all that. He was sure the Navy would protect him, his sealed records for his service with the SEALS worth more to them than burning bridges where they couldn’t afford to.  However, he’d ripped into something big, something rotten. Try as he did to sound good with it all, Tomlin was running scared. He was feeding into the collision course he’d just set, sure, but what if…what if it was **_too_** big, **_too_** rotten? What if he’d just became the next red flag for this group to chase? His mouth went dry and his stomach did summersaults. Then he was royally and officially screwed, and overconfidence would get him killed.

Arriving back at his office, pulling over several times on the ride back to allow more emergency vehicles to pass, sinking lower into this blossoming paranoia, Tomlin locked himself in and pulled out all the stops.

When he finished, just a few minutes ago, any worthwhile favors he’d accumulated over the years were up in smoke. He typed the last of his letter of resignation, the LA County Medical Examiner-Coroner Department seal heading the page. Room left above his typed name for his signature. It was surreal, he thought, to wake up this morning Derek Tomlin, Former Navy, Assistant to a top official in the County, an interesting rewarding job with future movement implied…a life he’d worked so hard for, and leave tonight a different man, with a different name, and shortly, a different face.

Derek Tomlin was going on the run. His reasoning, honed by his a past, was simple: If his gut left him frogy, he’d better start jumpin’. Everything was telling him he should get a head start, slash-and-burn his trail, and don’t look back.

Remind himself every step of the way that this was his choice _._

 _Just had to be a damn hero, didn’t you?_  

Stood to retrieve his letter from the printer bed, reading it over a final time. He ran his hand through his hair, its short cut bristling against his palm.

_Couldn’t leave it alone._

He was still in his civilian clothes, his bare arms pimpling with goosebumps in the air-conditioned air. All the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end too. He set the paper down on his desk so he wouldn’t crumple it.

_Spooked, aren’t you? Yeah, you idiot. Should be._

When Tomlin got the call Scott Travis’ blood and personal affects were under scrutiny in the lab because he was a suspect in a murder investigation, he should have left it at that. So what? So he saved the guy’s life several years back…that was his job, neither owed the other anything anymore. What is dead and buried should stay dead and buried.

But no. He couldn’t leave it alone.

When Decker asked him ‘why get involved now?’, he pulled the response he used out of his ass, and sold it pretty well. The real reason he kept to himself.

It was revenge. All he could think of was how damn hard he worked to save that kid’s life. **_He_** gave Scott Travis his second chance. Pulled him all the way back from the brink. And the ungrateful bastard wasted it by killing people for money. When he dug deeper and found that mentality was the poisonous groupthink of the majority, that was the point of no return.

He didn’t sign up to serve that majority. He signed up to do a job…and hope the people he saved realized what a chance they had because he did his job so well.

Call him a patriot, a do-gooder, a paladin, whatever, he couldn’t sit idly by while his past crushed the present with its stranglehold of gray-area morals.

Tomlin sighed and grabbed the nearest pen, scrawling his signature in the space. He folded it neatly in half and slid it into a business envelop prelabeled with his bonafides to leave in Doctor Lakshmanan’s office on his way out. Any personal effects from his office were already in his backpack. He didn’t keep much there, just his degrees, a Navy flag, a few pictures of his parents and sister, still living back in Colorado. His computer was a different story. Paper copies of all his reports were kept as well as the digital. The paper, he discounted as cumbersome—if someone wanted to through the trouble of locating and reading them, then that was their business. SEALS weren’t the R and D or R and R types; sitting down and pawing through heaping boxes of paperwork when they could be getting real results less than ideal and not in their job description. Hijacking his digital paper trail, on the other hand…

He slung his backpack over his shoulder, palming a single jet black USB drive he kept in a miniature hard sided case in an outside pocket. Slightly longer than a normal USB, it was also twice as powerful; more like portable Kryptonite. Marketed by its Hong Kong based manufacturer as The USB Killer, it was a next-gen cyber weapon he’d gotten his hands on in one of his more pressing fits of paranoia. He never dreamed of actually using it.

He inserted it into a USB slot in the side his flat screen monitor and let it do its job. The Killer worked by draining huge amounts of power from the device it was in contact with and then returning that power as an overloading burst, instantly and permanently disabling it. Only Apple protected its tech from such power surges, one of the reasons he himself used Apple at home. Here, Windows tech reigned supreme, much to the personal insistence of his boss, who hated Apple. The department as a whole still used Windows PCs and tablets too, a fatal if fortuitous downfall.

This computer died as advertised. Just a black screen, not even the infamous blue screen, inside a minute. The hard drive fried beyond repair, the motherboard a burned light green color on the inside, if anyone took the time to take it apart and look. Nothing retrievable left. He pulled the plug and did the same to the backup department laptop he carried in his bag: fried the shit out of it. He felt good for doing it, mentally apologizing to the department for the huge cost…consoled himself he wouldn’t be around for that particular shitstorm, but ultimately felt no safer.

Placing the Killer USB back in its case, Tomlin took out his encrypted cellphone and checked his texts. The one he was waiting for arrived in a rush of extra butterflies.

_Show time._

As part of the department’s outreach program in partnership with the University of California Los Angeles’ David Geffen School of Medicine and the University of Southern California’s Keck School of Medicine, those students interested in trauma care and forensic autopsy regularly toured and interned in the office. Therefore, to streamline the educational benefits, 3-D printers were installed last year to expedite the tactile, hand’s-on experience these students need.

_Modern technology: makes breaking every law on the book and then some easy as pressing a button. Jesus Christ…_

Before he got too maudlin, Tomlin called Chloe Decker, promptly breezing over several snappy demands for answers and help amid the other bigger shitstorm swirling around them all downtown.

“I have something I think might help, Detective. But it’s going to take me some time to pull it together. I also need to stop by my place for…for some extra gear I think you could use.” He swallowed, pulling his chin down wanly on that particular lie, _Gear for me to run like hell, you mean…. “_ And then I’ll meet you at you place. Is that okay?...Oh…Detective Espinoza’s place.” _Go from comfortably flirting to ditching her at the ex’s place. You’re doing fantastic, Dr. Phil… “_ Sure, address?...Thanks. Alright, see you in about an hour and a half. Take it easy, keep your head down.”

 _Yeah…_ Tomlin shoved his phone in his back pocket, cracking his knuckles introspectively, eyeing the patiently waiting and wholly yet innocent printer. _Keep your head down._

* * *

 

**_Same time…_ **

Damien called a family meeting.

That he could call what assembled a family still astounded him.

A work in progress, but from where he was standing, seeing Archangel and the Devil seated a table apart made a huge step forward indeed.

Lux’s bar was best suited for the powwow, ample seating, alcohol, ambient lighting…He wondered if the alcohol was a bit much in the way of temptation for flaring tempers, Rafael and Lucifer to name two, but when both grabbed a bottle of their own only to glare daggers over that, Damien wisely let it ride. If they were nursing bottles, they weren’t verbally abusing each other.

Miryam, their normally verbose warrior queen, remained tightlipped and increasingly pale, clutching her phone like a lifeline about to slip away. When the rock and heart of the family was laid low like this, making big decision, those potentially family wrecking decisions to make or break the next moments of their lives, never went well. In that, Damien thought, he could understand the Archangels’ woes: when Gabriel was down, the others fought to fill a gap that was never meant to be vacated in the first place.

Uriel’s insistence to play anchor to a sinking ship, then, wasn’t so insane. His angel had the most heart outside of Gabriel, the most to give… and, usually, the right words to say, even if they weren’t spoken in their Father’s Voice.

 “Rafael,” The name rolled off his tongue for a start. The Archangel look to him benignly, waiting for the rest. “I need you to tell us all what happened up there between Michael and Gabriel.”

He absorbed the dictum, effecting the proper response before speaking aloud, the whole process playing out across his face. Rafael poised himself and the words together with a slow roll of his shoulders back, settling his bearing to almost rigidly perfect. What he had to say would not be. It would be glaringly failing and almost too human for an angel to admit stooping to, but his family wasn’t what it once was either.

“They fought…Michael and Gabriel…” He began carefully.

“Got that part.” Lucifer poked in, bored by the minor theatrics of his younger brother.

“…Over Miryam.” Rafael finished, forced calmness tightening the words to equally bland flatness, his dark eyes darting in Lucifer’s direction, and then meaningfully back to Damien. “They fought over Miryam…mostly, whatever other issues Michael thinks he has with Gabriel these days notwithstanding. It was bloody and it was violent, though you all probably realized that.”

“Michael is stark raving loony,” Lucifer translated, snidely helpful, “Is what he’s trying to say, Damien.”

Damien glanced to Miryam for her reaction, the lack of one more telling than had she teared out or made some other exclamation. Instead, she just looked whipped by guilt. “Why? Why were they fighting over Miryam?” He asked Rafael.

A perverse smile spread across Lucifer’s face at the unspoken revelation in that question, “You mean you don’t ** _know_** , Damien?”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Andre groaned, “Miry…you didn’t tell Damien?”

“I was running for my life and yours, brother.” Miryam reasoned in a low even voice, keeping calm at all costs. “I didn’t see the time or the place for such things.”

Damien raised his, peeling back the layers of his sister’s grief like a potato peeler with his rough scouring, “Tell me what, Miry.”

Rafael jumped in, saving her the embarrassment. “Michael was concerned about the attention Gabriel was paying your sister. Seems he had good reason. They, uh, had a meetin’ here at this establishment yesterday. And then again later on. Taken in context of Michael’s paranoia over such things, it sent him over the edge.”

Damien absorbed this, swallowing under two broad blinks. He rubbed his palm on his pant leg bracingly slow. Looked to Miryam, who wilted even more. Without a hint of judgmental condescension, he asked her quietly, “What does he mean, Sissy?”

She laughed huskily, “I think you know.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Miryam shrugged, rolling her lips inward and clucking her tongue, voice cracking like a scratchy record as she oversimplified the complex web of emotion and wanting she and Gabriel had tumbled into. “I kissed him. Told him I loved him more than Michael…and that there was no way we could do this so he had to go home …”She sighed, highly pitched towards a sob; kneaded her eyes with the heels of her hands. “And he reciprocated. All of it.” Dropped her hands in a knotted ball in her lap, point blank with her last statement, “And I liked it. And I know he did too.” A suddenly defiant look angled at Damien. “I do love him more than Michael. And Michael can’t stand that—can’t stand what they’ve become because of Vega. So yes, maybe I sent Michael over the edge, but he had to be at that edge in the first place—and that’s not on me. He’s the hypocrite, also not me.”

Damien considered her and this, the shock of his sister seducing archangel--and allowing herself to be seduced in turn. He was stuck not the audacity of it—not even by the fact that it may be morally wrong— it wasn’t his place to say so; many other angels and humans had consorted with one another in various points of creation, and God did what He needed to for punishment, the Watchers springing to mind first and foremost. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. Angels and humans placed together never seemed to make it out without some sort of deep emotional resonance tying them together; even turning into real unadulterated love for some. No, what struck him was this new unfettered arrogance in Miryam.

Miryam had sense, the most sense out of all of them. Good common sense from grounded stock, who should know instinctively using her sex and emotions against Michael in favor of the twin he was already at odds with, threatening war and bloodshed, was downright foolhardy, if not suicidal.  He understood the pain of Vega as well as any of the Chosen Ones’, the trauma of losing Uriel to it for a time always fresh in his heart, but this—this was taking it too far.

“Miryam…”

She was immediately on her feet, still defiant, “Don’t…! Say my name like that. You don’t have the right to judge me.”

“No, you’re right.” Damien stood to meet her, just as stubbornly strongwilled as she was. “I don’t have that right, so I’m not. What I’m doing, “he stressed through clenched teeth, “Is questioning your judgement, sister. Questioning you…and your head. Is it in this game for the long haul, the part where we fight for our family and our lives? Or is it with Gabriel? And hurting Michael for hurting you? Because if it’s there, then I have no use for you. Because you will get us all killed! Just like you almost got Gabriel killed…and who knows how close Rafael and Uriel came to being hurt too!”

“We weren’t, Damien.” Rafael countered loudly. “We were quite safe.”

“You’re not worried about anyone but Uriel, Damien, let’s be clear, shall we? If you’re going to be making pronouncements about things you know next to nothing about, because you haven’t been in it like Andre and I have--.”

“Oh, including me in your shitshow, sis?” Andre called out, “Yeah, guess you should…fucking around with my Dad kinda gives that right, don’t it?”

Damien instantly swung on him, trying to rein in this uncontrolled descent into blame games “You have nothing to say, either! If you wanted to put your money where your big fat mouth is, you would have reconciled with Gabriel a long time ago. You’re why we’re here right now, Andre—he came looking for you first.”

“Ya know, Damien, I’m getting’ real sick of your high horse routine, bruv, like **_real_** sick ** _real_** quick. I ain’t said jackshit to you except thanks for the support and all you do is bite my head off—so where’s your head, man, huh? Up Uriel’s ass? Or with us.”

Rafael stood and seamlessly blocked the path to Andre for Damien, a steadying hand accompany his steadying aura, “Awright, enough!”

Damien chose the less volatile path and returned to Miryam, “Of course I care about Uriel. He’s my angel, isn’t he? And he went back into a situation that could very well get him seriously injured, even killed, to try and stop this—to save us from ourselves. So don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. I do. I lost him to Vega too, just like you two lost Michael and Gabriel. All I can do is thank his father for bringing him back whole, his brothers certainly didn’t get that chance.

“Christ, Miry, it’s doesn’t matter I think. Quite honestly I don’t care anymore who you sleep with or how you spend your nights. Not really, because I know you don’t give a damn about what anybody else thinks, least of all me. But this big picture, sis—that grand scheme we’re always fighting to protect? That I do care about. These are God’s most powerful soldiers lining up to kill each other over us! I don’t plan on making it out of this in one piece, that’s my job, but this planet…all these people who never knew God or angels were ever real in the first place, let alone them to be as petty and just as forsakenly human as they are…it’s going to be caught right in the middle when it goes south. Millions—billions!—of innocent people will die for our mistakes if Michael and Gabriel suddenly decide it’s not worth drawing lines in the sand over anymore. What kind of Chosen Ones allow that? I couldn’t. We have to fix this before it goes too far, and human life is spilled for it. That’s…what I’m judging you for.”

He watched Miryam’s face fall in a disheartened appeal over his shoulder. Damien followed it to Rafael, whose own downtrodden glance away from the scrutiny sold the troubling omen of more bad news.

Damien suddenly felt like the effort of standing, of speaking, of even breathing, was too much work. “What else are you not telling us.”

Namelessly called out, Rafael revealed the whole truth. “Gabriel killed a human yesterday.”

Andre stood at the indictment, his turn to reel. “That’s impossible.”

The drain in Damien’s face was prophetic in its downfall: an angel killing a human in a realm that wasn’t Vega…and wasn’t written by their Father as a direct order was a step too far on a bridge over very troubling waters indeed. “Who.”

Rafael again consulted Miryam, a sadly hurting question of ‘should I or should you? Turning to her again, Damien was propitiously out of patience. “Tell me right now, or I swear I will lock you in your lands until this is over.” She knew he wasn’t bluffing.

“The LeBlancs hired some big guns; Gabriel… killed the one assigned to shadow Chloe so she’d lead him to us.” She explained what she and Chloe had encountered the day before at their dead child victim’s adopted family’s home in Skid Row, and what Chloe had filled her in on from her contact in the ME’s office, about the SEAL connection. “Gabriel said he killed him for me, to protect me from another bad decision I made to hunt these people down when I should be running. He said he threw the body in the ether where no one would find it, and tried to force me back to my lands, but…”

Miryam looked to Andre, and the appalled gleam in his eye brightening over the rapid leaping to understand that his gentle father slit a human’s throat without batting an eye, even enjoyed it, that he was well and truly broken.

“I—I didn’t tell you this because, well, neither one of us were in the mood to be open with one another yesterday, but in Vega, Andre…Gabriel was exposed to the Fifth Amphora—you know, the All-Father’s weapon of Darkness? Well…it’s inside him, now. And it’s killing him.”

Those four words punted Andre down all the pegs, and then some, from where he’d been when the meeting began, so sure of his grievances and where the blame went, to where he was suddenly back in that moment ages ago when Gabriel came to him in his temple garden, repentant just for their relationship to be whole again. When Andre promised to kill him if he ever came near him again.

He wound his hands through his hair as he grappled with this new truth in face of that fateful last meeting, “…No, no, no, this can’t be happening. Why—how-would his Father--?” He spun on Rafael, tugging on the front of his breast plate for purchase, eagerly looking for support, for anything but this. “Raffi…he’s not--? I mean, Gabe, he’s---?”

Rafael shuffled in place as he tentatively patted the hand plastered to his chest, sighing grimly, “For now, he’s alive. But they’re not lyin’, Andre, yeah, he’s gonna die. Sooner or later, the Darkness is gonna kill him. Or one of us will have to. Whichever comes first. The second he loses control, and he will. Just a matter of those shields he put up in his mind shatterin’, letting the Darkness consume him until this nothing left. When he was killing that human worm—that was him letting go for a second, and he almost didn’t climb back. I had to suckerpunch him for a rewire when he got home, just in the nick of time too. I don’t fancy that workin’ more than once, so that was that.”

“Can’t you heal him? I dunno…take it away somehow?”

Rafael didn’t mean to laugh, didn’t want to either, so he chocked it down to a throaty scoff, “Take the Darkness away? Andre, the only one of us to beat it was Lucifer there, and that was at full-on Son of Morning. I got juice, yeah, but not that much. I can only heal what I know how to heal—how do I heal something that was there before I was? Only Dad could absolve him—not even Uriel…or Michael for that matter, could help.” He moved his pat to bearded cheek, “It kills me knowin’ I can’t save him—and apparently Dad doesn’t see fit to either.”

Lucifer rejoined the discussion, brooding on the content thus far, with a snort, “’Doesn’t see fit too? You know as well as I do, Rafael, Dad could save him, **_if_** he was worth saving. That’s the point, we’re expendable. Now do you get it? Is **_this_** big enough for you to get it through your gorilla skull Dad’s thrown in the whole kit and caboodle on the subject? Since me Falling for it obviously wasn’t…and never was, not even to you. Shocker.”

“Yeah?” Rafael wanly considered him, mustering up a disinterested drawl, used to the old argument…but not to how much it hurt to be reminded he failed the big picture’s pressures that last time too, “I don’t see you tryna help at all. ‘Cept to open your mouth for shit to come out like usual.”

“Just stop!” Andre wasn’t done spiraling out of control on this one, not by a long shot. Hearing Rafael and Lucifer getting into it at a moment like this… “Jesus, Lucifer…Gabriel is your brother too! And this is THE Darkness—the one you fought and supposedly destroyed? Yeah, now it’s killing him, so a little bloody respect.”

His quickchange in stance shut Lucifer down briefly. He tried to take advantage of the quieting of the stage, losing ground on his insolence; quickly reaching pitiable shock, “Da—Damien…This is impossible. Gabriel wouldn’t…”

Damien didn’t feel like being charitable, not even now, but he did soften his tact accordingly, flatly pointing out, “What do you think he did in Vega, Andre. He killed indiscriminately. You know that. And the Darkness? It just takes the worst in a person and twists it until it kills them, feeding on the mayhem that causes. It’s not impossible, so I’m sorry, but yeah…yeah, Gabriel killed someone—a threat, sure, ** _but he murdered a human in cold blood_** just the same. ** _”_** The emphasis on this flinched across Andre’s dumbfounded gape, dismay pitting in his stomach hotly rancid.

“For the record…Andre,” Lucifer felt the need to add, tritely so, “I only banished the Darkness. **_Dad_** took it from there.”

The meaning of that statement rocketed around between them. Rafael muttered something and threw up his hands, covering his mouth in the next instance as he left the group to take a minute.

“So, the next time…” Lucifer expounded rigidly, “You want to blame someone, and this goes for all of you, **_Damien_** …blame my father. It’s **_all_** on Him. He pulls all the triggers, He made every one of us the pawns He wanted us to be; all the scenarios, all the drama— ** _Him_**.” He pointed at himself, “Not me. Hello, scapegoat?”

“We need to retrieve that body,” Damien decided, firmly in his element of logistics. “Because like it or not, our biggest problem right now is the fact the LeBlancs are playing by different rules. We don’t know how many more of these guys they got out for us. If we can hold them off…use that body as leverage…” He looked to Miryam, “I need you to call your Detective friend, get on in the inside of this.” He gestured Rafael back, doing the same to Lucifer for a huddle-up. “We’re going to get that body—Raffi, you can search the ether faster than I could. Lucifer, you’re the most familiar with the Darkness, so you’re elected to be helpful for once.”

“Wait a minute!” Andre unfolded his arms to bust into their powwow, “What about Miry and me? You can’t just shove us to the side like this—he’s my angel, my dad, I have to see it!”

“There’s nothing to see; a dead body, that’s it. You’re still getting back on your feet; you’re staying.”

“My father killed this bastard! Damien. I’m going.” Andre took off for the elevator, pulling his robe apart as he went. Draco automatically followed, his presence almost forgotten, he’d so masterfully melted into the background to watch. “Thank you, Draco,” Damien said as he passed.

That left Miryam.

“What about me, Damien?” She asked quietly. “Am I too much damaged goods to you now, is that it?”

“No…Sissy,” he murmured, striking a note of paternal discouragement, “You tried it your way, now we’re doing it mine. Michael was in your head.” He added that as though it justified.

“It’s always your way, isn’t it? Lord or the Manor cometh and he takeths all away. Michael is gone, Damien, but I’m still here, still…hanging on to my sanity by a thread! You need me, at the very least!...to show you the scene.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Damien.” Now she was reaching, plying that throb in her voice she got when she wasn’t getting her way.

He sighed his aggravation, just shy of snapping when he barked in no-uncertain-terms: “No.”

Miryam immediately curbed her pleas under his agitation like a child who knew she’s pushed as far she dare, and unhappy to do it. “Fine. I’ll…call the Detective, then.”

Lucifer took her hand as she went by, pausing her retreat. Without saying a word or even changing his expression, he somehow made her see he understood. She gave his grip a tiny squeeze in tepid gratitude.

“Tell me, Damien,” Lucifer watched her go, “You made that big speech about free will and choices in the face of Dad’s stick up the ass bully-for-him treatment. But you don’t believe a word of it. Do you?”

“Considering there’s a good chance your father is going to kill me either way? Nice to have something to believe in. Why? You still all wishy-washy over whether or not you want to be the shit-kicker down under, or the prodigal son returns?”

Lucifer slowly painted on a curt smile, enjoying hearing his mouth coming out of another so much less than he figured on. “You should meet my old man, you two would get along. Two peas in a pod, as it were.”

He called bullshit on a scenario he’d seen and heard played out so many—too many---times, “Both lying sons of bitches who preach one thing and do another. Worse than those bloody false prophets, you are…least they stick with a story, don’t toss it out the window minute it’s convenient! You’re not giving **_her_** the choice! Just putting her under your heel! Michael was in her head, you said it. Believe you me, I know what that’s like. She wants a little payback, put all this mess to rest, take a shot at something outside what my Dad wants—or doesn’t want, who the bloody hell knows which! You should be saying please and thank you, luv. Instead you push her away like-like a broken doll that doesn’t play Ode to Bloody Joy anymore…Well, I know what that’s like too.”

Lucifer dealt a delicate twitch in his cheek, right at the corner of his mouth, pools of goopy crude oil black swirling in his pupils, so pitched in the light they flashed not red, but quicksilver. His voice dropped to a hypnotically low grating. “You want me on your side? You want me to make that choice? …Done. But do be careful what you wish for, Damien, truly. You succeed in this little dance with Dad? It’ll be a whole new world for you.” His face contoured in the most stunning curvature of light and darkness around his cheek bones and jawline; highlighting and lowlighting from the inside and out. Even Rafael shrank back, pulling Damien the few inches with him, responding to this brimstone foundation for the fire, “Are you sure Miryam is going to want to go with you in the end? Are you able to walk away confident this deal is your best? Good questions to ponder, aren’t they?”

The Devil shut off his infernal nightlighting and remodulated his voice out to a deadpan drone. Jangled the keys to his Corvette in their faces, “I’ll be waiting in my car. Send Andre when he’s ready.”

 

* * *

 

They rode from Lux in silence. Andre sat stiffly in the passenger seat, unperturbed by the rushing wind of the twilit open road speeding by. Numbly unaffected. Might have pushed his tinted State Trooper shades up his nose once or twice, but otherwise a stony, shutoff statue with an unruly mop of hair flying like an unbound freak flag.

The look of a haunted angry young man.

It was difficult for Lucifer to reconcile the return of this look to a face essentially his. Had Hell mirrors instead of fires, the immediate aftermath of the Fall would have truly driven him mad, this very expression destroying him with every glance. The hole in his heart left by his Father’s betrayal and his siblings’ abandonment continued to serve that mantle well, including when Lucifer was all careless smiles and sarcastic joshing—especially then. He never wanted or hoped to see that look again, though he suspected he would at some point. Father left the same amount of patterns behind as He’d painted Creation with—devastation among his boldest choices. Here, on Andre, because he too just realized the full scale of his own father’s devastation, the reminder sat too stark to let go. He nonchalantly swept his arm over the side of the car, playing with the wind at his fingertips, drumming a steady rhythm over the door handle outside.

Deciding how to break the layer of ice built between them. Funny, his mercurial nature was so Lucifer’s too, that the Devil felt remised for having such a time disarming it. Andre wanted to hate Gabriel for all his transgressions of late…yet felt ample need to bite back when the Devil tried to do the same. Typical of their lot. Deeply buried for Lucifer…he suspected, however, it wouldn’t take much to scrape the edges and make that old would bleed again.

He was always just ready to jump for it. His therapist would say that’s why he was so shameless in his largesse, that he was trying to compensate for the fact half of his being—the best half-- was ripped from him as Fell. His rote response was just to smile and say, ‘Devil, luv, comes with the territory.’

He knew for a fact, even though everything else about reconnecting with the family was murky and thorny to boot, pulling that card on Andre wasn’t going to work. They were too similar for that. He glanced meaningfully at this nephew of his…and actually cursed his brother Gabriel, not for screwing up something so promising, but for having it in the first place.

“Now, I’m no son of the year…or the ages for that matter,” he began conversationally, “And my father is a sadistic megalomaniac who likes to squash His offspring for jollies…but at one point I was rather good at being Daddy’s #1 son and He was rather good at not throwing me down head first into the Pit. So take this as you will. Gabriel had this ridiculously long title that I can’t even pronounce anymore, but it meant The Patient One. Probably the only truth in the mess of our family.”

He glanced over to Andre once more. “You can’t blame him, Andre, for following orders—it’s what they do, and all they know. Following me down means the wings come off and they lose everything. I was wired for sound, they weren’t. You can’t blame him for being who he is. But…if you do blame him for anything, blame him for holding on to something so obviously broken for far too long. Vega should never have happened. It did. He realizes it now that he’s going to die. But that…even that, is on Dad. Not Gabriel. Get angry at my Old Man, not yours.” He swallowed heavily, speaking openly about these old fractures for the first time in ages a bit too much for a scotch-less throat. He finished by saying the one other thing he thought he never would, not even to himself, “Believe it or not, Gabe’s one of the good guys.”

Andre made a sign of life, uncomfortably moving in the supple leather of his seat. “Sanctimonious looks like shit on you, just sayin’.”

“’Course it does. Think I like defending Gabriel to you? I hate it just about as much as watching more brothers burn because they refused to listen to me when we all had a chance to stand together.”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Lucifer.”

“I bet you don’t! You’re me, you hate these chick flick moments—makes yer skin crawl, amirite? But I’m driving the car here, so my tunes, my topics of conversation.”

He watched Andre’s own hand slide to the door handle, cueing a split second gunning of the accelerator to make him think twice about bailing. Andre vigorously worked his jaw, retracting his arm to his lap. “Fine. I’m having a fucking awesome day here anyway, why not add the Devil’s Daddy issues to it?”

“Exactly my point, **_princess_**.” replied Lucifer testily, “I’m a walking blueprint of what not to do. Use me, darling, but don’t emulate. Gabriel has done the best he could with what he had and what he knew—trust me, with a Dad like ours, it’s practically making it up as you go.”

Andre stared at him with arch impassiveness, deciding if ripping into Lucifer was worth the energy. He kept his response measured and tonelessly bitter, “Why try to convince me I’m wrong to be angry? Where’s your gain?”

“Not losing you,” Lucifer said bluntly, sweeping an encompassing glare at him, holding it on him until Andre looked away first. Lucifer returned to the road, “Or my brothers. I can’t make peace with the fact I am. But you can, Andre.” Lucifer furrowed his brow suddenly, deciding to hit below the belt, “One of the many things the humans have gotten wrong about the story over the years is that I hate my brothers, and they me. Yeah, they’re dicks. But it’s not their fault Dad had zero personality to share. I don’t hate them, not completely…not anymore.”

“So what do call you and Raffi back there, then? Just stop the fuckin’ bullshit trip, man…ain’t worth it…”

“Rafael and I had a different dynamic. Which I don’t have to defend to you—so **_you_** stop **_your_** bullshit trip and bloody listen to me because I’m never going to repeat this! And don’t you dare, either.” The threat was good as gold in Lucifer’s and Andre’s books, so Andre shut up with a belligerent scoff.

Lucifer went on before he lost this head of steam, “What I am… is frustrated. You know? I mean, I literally make the biggest choice I could possibly make outside of ever and they refuse to learn the bloody lesson; and then make me the butthole of their shitstorm? So yeah, sue me for taking several millennia to try to come to terms with that. What I really hate, or what I’ve come to see I hate more than them personally, is their ideals, the uprighteousness even when they’re totally wrong, which is most of the time. Just regurgitating Dad over and over again…

“These humans…and a lot of angels… have forgotten I Fell because I just happened to love my family. A little too much, is all… to watch them get the axe over the new pets of the household. So I refused to scratch ‘em behind the ears… before turning them completely wild just to spite Him. The War that followed,” he shrugged with a hard squish of his mouth upwards, “I didn’t want it—why would I? I did what I did to save my family, why push for something that would just end up getting them all killed? It became murder incorporated: the factions rewrote the message, made it a bloody brandname…I lost control of it. Those orders I mentioned my brothers not being able to ignore? Dad gave his biggest sales pitch. Sold them on the spot: I had to go. So for that…I do hate Gabriel.”

Andre jerked a loathsome jeer at him, radiating out from behind his RayBans.

Lucifer calmly finished without a hint of the usual attitude, “I hate him because he got a second chance at making the family right again. He got to be the father Dad couldn’t be. He got you. I would have returned to Heaven, even, for a shot like that. So, don’t fuck it up for me…or for you. Learn the lesson my brothers wouldn’t. That’s how we win, and Dad loses.”

Lucifer brought his hand back in from its drumming, wiping his mouth hastily. He shifted completely in his seat to sit straighter, carefully blanking his expression to a bland amalgamation of imperious contrition and lightly glowering challenge. There was nothing more he could say without going overboard. What had been said was too soul bearing. Never to be taken back. He designed it that way; always room for second guessing, though. Andre’s response was more prolonged silence…but at least he had the decency to make it a strained silence. Finally folding down to a hang dog slouch, he propped his head up in his hand as he stuck his elbow on the doorjam to make for an obtuse watching of the scenery.

They stayed at this uncomfortable understanding for the rest of the ride.

* * *

 

_**6:50pm** _

The Skidrow neighborhood was as it had been before Gabriel’s and Scott Travis’ invasion earlier. Of the hubbub Miryam and Chloe had brought to their little child victim’s abandoned home, just the crime scene tape remained. All resources had been rerouted back to headquarters, where the word of a federal matter of state was spreading like wildfire, consuming its fuels of unanswered question and rampant grandiose rumors at will. Out here, on the streets, it was a different kind of wildfire. The lazy heat of the day simmering down, where the tensions of the streets ran hotter at night. Tempers flared, shouts sounded from disparate corners and alleys, young men without places to go skirting along with sullen stares over their shoulders, hiking up sagging pants. Cars slowed at populated corners only to speed up a minute later, transaction complete.

A different world. Lucifer’s world. Not that he chose it for himself. When one did as Lucifer had done and made a choice with his heart and not his head, his father somehow equated that to embracing the seedy underbelly of existence and creation. Now, he was expected to flourish in places like this. In situations of excess, debauchery, and violence.

Lucifer slammed the door of his corvette, fixing suit and cuffs. He searched the darkening blobs of graffiti gracing fences and the rundown facades of the houses in the neighborhood. Nothing coalesced into meaning or art.

Andre removed his Raybans, unnecessary now in the waning light. He tucked thick strands of tangled braid behind his ears, rubbing his beard in a nervous scrub. “So, uh, where is this shithole dump?”

“Better question is where’s your brother and mine?”

“Behind ya.” Rafael’s gravelly twang made Lucifer startle. “Don’t tell me I caught you off guard. Slippin’, mate.” The archangel walked around them, his armor and cloak glistening as if drenched. The outfit effortlessly changed to a more human hue, ripped blue jeans and a faded t-shirt bulging the fabric to its limits around his arms, chest, and shoulders.

“Sorry. I’m used to polite company.”

“No, ya ain’t.”

“Polite company is not you, so yes, I am.”

Andre saw his brother pull up in his Suburban.  “Can you stop?” He interjected. They both looked to him, argument still burbling under the surface. He jogged to his brother as he climbed out of the SUV, a short hop down for him where anyone else would be falling out.

Damien glanced up as he reached back for the center console. “Still don’t know why you’re here.”

“Because, somehow, just you, Lucifer and Rafael sounds like the members of a really bad alt Christian rock band.”

Damien’s eyebrows shot up under a knitted brow in his return glance, somewhat pleased to hear that ol’ Andre attitude back. “What?”

“I hate alt. Christian rock.”

Damien snorted, shaking his head. “’Kay, Rolling Stone.” He lock the truck down tight. Its blackout features blended it to the night. Andre watched him subtly settled his Glock under his shirt, fluffing it so the outline wouldn’t show through. He also carried flashlights, handing one off to Andre. Without their immortality, their inherent nightvision wasn’t up to usual par. Lucifer took one as well, while Rafael was fine without. “Let’s go.”

He took the lead, beelining for the particularly decrepit hellhole with fresh police tape adorning it. Rafael quickly caught up to match his stride, the consummate lookout with his head on a swivel. Andre stuck with Lucifer, remembering belatedly Miryam’s visceral reminder he had to watch out for his uncle and his mortality issues. He didn’t even bother wondering who would watch out for his, he was on his own now.

Rafael ripped the tape out of their way right before he kicked the door down. He was never subtle but this was not the time to draw attention to themselves. “Easy, Ah-nold…” Andre hissed in a fake Austrian accent, waving him down. Rafael frowned, holding Damien back so he could be the first one in. “Ya know, you could choose an insult I actually understand.”

Andre followed him in, “Not an insult. ‘Do you even lift, bro’…now that would be an insult.”

“Nah, still not doin’ it for me…”

Lucifer ducked in last, cringing at the mess and general creeping crud. “Let’s play Whose Line some other time, eh?”

“Remind ya of home, Luci?” Rafael traded back over his shoulder as he took in the grimness.

“Funny you should ask. How about you? The stench of abandonment and broken dreams does ring a bell…”

“Shove it.” Damien glared at all three, his hand under his shirt in the back just in case. The darkened, dangerously ridden-with- pratfall-opportunities interior drawing all his attention and lightbeam while the bantering back in forth grated on the very little nerves he had left. “All of you.”

The group began to split up, each taking the house in separate chunks, trying, Andre supposed as he took off towards the kitchen by way of the living room, to understand the place that drove Gabriel to kill. Understand the emotions of the time and place that drove Miryam at Gabriel and Gabriel at her. When he came upon the CSI marked pool of blood, the rich crimson dried to almost black, any understanding for what his father had done, even if it saved Miryam, crumbled into ashy remains.

This was Scott Travis’s life spilled out over the floor. His father spilled it. Drew that knife across the man’s throat and severed his jugular as easily as cutting paper. Was…like cutting paper; human flesh was so weak. Gabriel would have been close to him for the act. His hands…possibly his face and clothes… would have been covered in blood. He would have smelled it, tasted it as it spurted. He would have watched the scarlet cascading grow and grow as this human’s heart continued to pump as if all as normal. As if he hadn’t had the misfortune to meet a hellbent broken angel…a creature he probably didn’t believe in. As if he’d had a chance; the minute Gabriel hooked him, he was dead. It was cruel how his father played with him, batting him around like a mouse on a string. Watching him struggle…gurgle out the last inches of life. And then, before that end could come, he snapped the man’s neck like a twig.

Cruel. Brutal. Angels were never the soft and beguiling creatures humanity envisioned them to be. Uriel represented the golden example of angelic perfection of the mythology the humans parted from Eden with, but it was shallow and truncated to what they wished angels were. Simple sweet chubby babies in loincloths and curls, carrying harps. Not soldiers, not warriors. Nor did they want their archangels, their patron saints, to be the absolute hands of God they were. They wanted statues, pendants, and medallions to pray to.

They didn’t want a Michael who’d been the Flood their mythology said cleansed the earth of evil. In blood, not rain. They only wanted the Michael, the glorious upstanding Sword, who’d kicked Lucifer’s ass. The Protector, the Guardian. If they wanted him at all. They wouldn’t be able to comprehend that both sides were equally true, and paramount to his core being. They didn’t want the Gabriel who was the Heart of Heaven, the bearer of its weight and toiling, the angel second only to Michael with the most death on his hands. They just wanted the Messenger, a sweet, innocent message bearer with a horn. If they wanted him at all.

They definitely wouldn’t want to know just how human, and frail…these creatures were. It would destroy the fabric of culture and religion and anything else humans molded to believe in to keep from going insane with the grand mystery of their existence. Science was proof, beliefs were life. Destroy one, and the other couldn’t exist either.

Andre lowered himself to his knees next to stain. He studied it. Touched it. Its crumbly dry texture startling him even though he knew it would be this way after so many hours. He opened his mouth, said the words that would draw the others to him, but didn’t hear them himself.

He didn’t want this Gabriel. He didn’t want the Flood either. He didn’t want to be here, juggling with question even Uriel couldn’t answer. He just want the angel who’d found him abandoned on the doorstep of a Singapore Buddhist temple because Andre’s soul had called out to him, bonding them forever. He wanted the father who’d raised him into the man he was, and then gently guided him through the pressures of Chosenhood, including immortality and the existence of two others like him. He wanted the angel who’d sung him to sleep and held him when he was sad, or hurt, or sick.

“I’ve lost him.”

He realized he’d said that part aloud. Rafael crouched to his level and wrapped his arm around his shoulders. Lucifer looked pinched and angry. Damien just stared at the spot as if it was going to get up and walk away.

“Is this enough of a reference point for you, Rafael?” he asked finally, breaking the gloom. Rafael nodded, still comforting Andre. “Should be.”

“Find it.”

The Healer paused to pull Andre into a quick side embrace before he straightened and vanished into the ether.

“I’m confused again,” Lucifer said. “Why am I here? The darkness, I know, but what good is it to you?”

“Because you can tell me how far gone Gabriel is—how much of a danger he’s become.”

“He’s sick,” Andre replied before Lucifer could. He glared up at his brother from under coarse eyebrows, the scar in his right standing out.. “It’s not his fault. You heard Lucifer—their Father has control over the Darkness, like He had control over Vega. Fuckin’ lot a good that did, right?”

Damien considered his change in tune carefully, “I thought you hated him.”

Andre stood, spoiling for a fight; to hit something or go crazy with the injustice of it. “I hate…” he gritted through his teeth, pulling to his full 6’4” height so he was taller than his domineering, smug ass son of a bitch older brother, “…what he’s become. I hate his hate and his anger and his betrayal. I don’t hate **_him_**. I could **_never_** …hate Gabriel.”

Damien scorn was caustic. “Oh wow. Really. Well, you’re a hell of an actor, Andre. Had me fooled.”

Andre grabbed his brother by the shirt and yanked him in, murderously quiet in his speech, “You don’t get to judge, or even talk about Gabriel, here. You!…you pushed him to this. You pushed him after Miryam. You made him do this. Not the Darkness, not this asshole he killed. You. You stood there, probably behind Uriel, and you cut him down to a size manageable to walk all over. Because he did a dirty ass job and got the shaft for it. You want me to remember what I did to him that got us all to this point? How about you remember yours. I damn well do.”

Lucifer calmly peeled Andre off, separating them with an archly poised eyebrow and single hand knifed between them. Damien didn’t have a reply, he just looked hollow and remarkably old. He had gray hair in his stubble. Never noticed that before.

The Devil remained at Andre’s side, listening to him fume and spit little curses out every once in a while, in step with his pacing and his removal and replacement of hands to his hips.

“I think we should have those Devil-to-man conversations more often.” Lucifer whispered on one of Andre’s passes. “Remarkably gullible one, aren’t you. Though, if you listen to Gabe, you’ll listen to me. We’re alike in that way…soon to be more, I wager.” He added airily.

Andre glared at him worse than he had at Damien. “Gabe’s not going to Fall. Okay? He’s not…like, gonna join you down here for an extended vacay where all’s you do is fuck and get drunk. That’s not happening.”

“I didn’t say it was, Andre. But now that you mention it…”

“Shut up, just shut up!”

“Easy, boy, easy…you’re doing this to yourself.”

Andre threw himself into another revolution around the room, kicking shit over when it was in his way, a little Tazmanian devil, complete with the fur… “Where is Rafael? Taking too long!”

“I actually agree.” Damien called out from his perusal of another room, returning with an apologetic twist to his features, “If that’s all right with you.”

Andre scowled. “Just…call him, or something. Hell, go after him. I wanna get the hell out of here…”

Lucifer, however, could tell Rafael was actually very near returning on his own. “Hold on.” He squinted off into space, reading the ether’s vibrations…and an old adversary with somewhat rusty senses. “He’s coming.”

“How do you know? I thought you and the ether didn’t jive well these days.”

“No,” Lucifer looked to Andre, “But I always know an old enemy when I smell one. The Darkness.”

The air over the bloodstain undulated in visible waves, a small sonic pulse of time and space. Rafael stepped out, arms full of limp body. They watched him lower the corpse to meet its spilled blood, and then stumble back, almost falling himself. Damien grabbed Rafael to steady him, realizing now the angel dripped sweat and was quite out of breath. “What’s the matter with you?”

Rafael took several gulps before answering, waving off the concern as he wiped the sweat off his brow. “Heh, hell, Damien…Luci’s right. Din’ need ‘em. Coulda told you m’self. Guy reeks a’ Darkness. Guess—guess I just took one whiff too many.” He coughed, holding his chest. A faint amber light pooled under his hand, draining through his fingers into his body. He opened his eyes when the light faded, free of exertion, sweat dried. “I’m good. Promise. Sorry about that. Gabe warded the body in there…top a’ the Darkness, couldn’t find him at first.”

Andre crouched in the same spot as before. This time he examined Scott Travis as he examined his blood. The ether had taken its toll on this human who was without Fae or angelic blood. The skin was well and truly paper thin now, completely dehydrated. The hair was thinned and falling out, and the physique this soldier probably worked hard to maintain, just wasted away.

Lucifer joined him, gingerly placing a reluctant fingertip on the forehead to do his part of this maladjusted bargain.

“I…I was just like him once.” Andre admitted softly, staring at the grotesque flaps of skin of his lacerated throat, and the unnatural angle of his broken neck.

“What, mummified and tenderized?”

“No. A mercenary.”

Lucifer’s astonishment made Andre force a grim smile. “Yeah. Me too. Couldn’t believe it myself, but…sis one of the time’s I tried to run from Gabriel. Find myself.” He berated this choice with a sneering snicker. ‘Like an asshole. Took off, starting selling my skills and my blades to the highest bidder. Had a few big hits, scored some easy cash…until hunter became hunted.” He stopped to swallow, and tilted a prophetically heavy frown at Travis. “Like him. I didn’t know it either. Like him too. No idea, so wrapped up in how damn invincible I was…” He stopped again, working the memory out in his head. His voice cracked, “Gabriel saved me.”

He straightened in a hurry, suddenly embarrassed and clearing his throat. “How bad is it?”

Lucifer withdrew his finger and did a cursory pat down of the body; not his favorite moment…but seeing Andre fly through the stages of grief without braking once made it feel right to make this certain. All the signs were there. Rafael’s reaction to the body. Gabriel’s overt violence.

“Lucifer.”

He met Andre’s gaze. His dragon spirit, reptilian pupil and all, glazed with spark and smoke.

“How bad is it.” He pressed upon him again.

“Rafael told you back at LUX--.”

“I want to hear it from you. You made that speech to me…about not blaming Gabriel. To understand that he tried so hard to make it work. He clenched his fists in an effort to keep his voice steady, “I need to know how much time I have left to make it right too.”

Lucifer rose, feeling a funny sort of flip flop in his gut as he confirmed he’d soon have one less brother…the same brother his Father so carefully mined Lucifer’s qualities and characters to build. Lucifer’s other side of the coin…if he’d been destined to have a twin.

“Not much time.”

First from Rafael, now from Lucifer. Andre let go of his fight, exhaling the breathes he’d been holding or shortening. He left the house, only his flashlight marking his path. Lucifer took one dismal look at the other two, this ghastly excuse for a mortal’s home, and then a longer, disdainful one at the body. “I’d have rather done this myself, too quick this way.” He left to take Andre back, his flashlight beam following the same path.

Damien remained the cool stoic, stowing his own emotions as any good king and soldier should, locking them away in a metal box he kept in the farthest reaches of his mind. “Take the body back to LUX. Ether’s mummified it enough we can leave in the basement without refrigeration. Meet you there. We’ve plans to discuss.”

Rafael mortal clothes vanished in a similar shimmer to when he arrived. His armor and cloak returned. “I can’t stay, Damien.”

“Why? I thought I made this clear—we need you.”

“You made yer point, I survived an evening with Lucifer. Now I hafta to go home. Things back there that need me.” Rafael clapped him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkling at their corners in his frown, “Before I go, want you to know somethin’…about Uriel.”

The Phoenix tensed, testily replying, “You said he was all right.”

“And he is. More than all right. Just that…when Gabe and Michael went at it, Michael turned on us when Gabriel wouldn’t fight back at first. Gabe did his best…but it was Uriel who stopped Michael cold.”

Damien was baffled—only yesterday Uriel had sworn to him he wouldn’t fight, sending his Chosen in to a fit of panic and worry his angel was walking back into a situation he’d regret. Now he was handedly disposing of the Sword? “ ** _Uri_**?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. Uriel can fight as well as any of us.”

“He just chooses not to, I know…”

“You don’t what him hurt.” Rafael finished for him, his understanding and mutual concern for his twin heartening. “You and me both.” He didn’t mention the sinking suspicion he had that Uriel would get hurt nevertheless. This thing was far from over after all. “I’m watchin’ him. I got his back, no worries. Just…don’t go forgettin’ who he is. He’s a lot stronger than you know, Damien. I’ll tell him you send your regards.” He swept Damien into a crushing hug, folding himself around him. “Take care of yourself.”

The awkward weight and height difference made for some struggling but Damien patted Rafael on the back as best he could. “You too, Raffi.” He managed through the squeeze.

The Healer tossed the end of his cloak over his far shoulder in a wrap before he hauled the corpse back in his arms. He vanished back into the ether, heading for LUX ahead of the others.

* * *

 

LUX

Rafael arrived in a blink of a mortal, or a Dragon’s, eye. Draco felt his old friend’s arrival rather than witnessed it. He was making himself busy, trying to whip together a late dinner his Lady would actually eat. So far, she’d refused any of his offers. Locked in the guest room she’d taken over as her own, she was as unreachable as he’d ever seen her. It was as he feared when he saw Gabriel’s attachment grow into something dangerously near love. There was no coming back from that. Angels took much in their affairs, much more than they could give.

Her guilt was compounded by what she had nearly done to Andre under Michael’s influence…and what Andre had experienced because her angel lost control of his incredible rage with his own brother, and finally the inescapable situation she’d dragged her detective friend into. One they would all have to face head on very soon. Add in the All-Father’s displeasure and His imminent decision on their fates should their angels refuse to come to heel, and Miryam was in a very dark, secluded place.

She shut herself in. Draco could still hear her futile attempts to get in touch with Detective Decker through her door as he passed by. So far, the woman ignored her. Draco saw that coming this morning. It had the whole day to fester. Something turned the human against his Lady. He wondered if the stresses of this situation had grown to be too much, and completely understandable, however shutting out the best chance these mortals had of solving and surviving this case was not.

Miryam didn’t want his advice on the subject. Didn’t want anything but silence and solitude. So, Draco took to his favorite room in any abode, the kitchen, and made an effort to supply a different kind of support.

Rafael’s lone arrival stirred his concern for his family. He left the penthouse behind, taking the elevator all the way down to Lucifer’s basement, where he kept his club’s supplies and records.

“Rafael?”

Rafael stumbled from around one of the steel incased room’s floor to ceiling liquor racks, hanging on for support. Draco rushed to help him, steadying the angel against the rack. He was in a sweaty lather and acutely out of breath.

“What happened?” Draco demanded, looking him over. “Where are the others?” He couldn’t see any overt wounds, but tried to unbuckle and remove his armor just to be sure. “Raffi!”

The archangel took his hands away from his chest plating, finally answering him. “Mmmfine…old Dragon. They others are coming—they’re well.”

Draco didn’t believe him, ardently trying to help him down to sitting, “This is not fine. You’re ill!”

Rafael shook his head, refusing him. He palmed his own chest as he had the first time he carried Scott Travis’ corpse. As before, his Light healed him, bringing him comfortably back to health. He opened his eyes to give the agitated dragon a worn smile, “I’m find, old friend. Here.” He tested his weight without leaning. Satisfied, he pushed off and beckoned the Dragon around the back of the rack.

Scott Travis’ body lay safely secured out of sight, but still ghastly reminder of their situation.

“The human Gabriel killed. For my Lady.” Draco looked to Rafael. He nodded, wrapping his cloak around him again to ward off the stench of evil.

“Reeks of the Darkness. Every time I have to carry him, I get a dose. Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

Relieved, Draco gripped the archangel’s arm, “Oh, forgive me—I have much on my mind. Between my Lady and her brothers, and your brothers…this whole mess, I am easily upset. No need to lose you as well, old one. Come.” He applied pressure to steer the angel with him, “Let us get a drink. It’s been too long.”

He expected his old friend to gladly follow. Instead, he planted his feet, going no further. His face darkened as he avoided the Dragon’s happy, leading smile. Draco’s mirth faded. “Raffi? …Something else is wrong.” He realized almost immediately. “What is it?”

The archangel obviously didn’t want to divulge this, merely admitting it out in the open hurt as much as its reality did, but Draco was the one who needed to hear it this most. “I know Gabriel promised you he’d come if you called for intervention. Draco, he won’t be able to answer. None of us will.”

The Dragon stepped back, struck by this angel’s candid admission that would be no help, as Draco feared, from Heaven. “…He is alive, is he not?”

“For now. Yea. But it’s a little bit more—a lot more, if I’m bein’ honest with ya, and I am—than Gabriel’s health keepin’ him away.”

He reached under his draped cloak, producing two long ampules filled with a substance similar to honey. It was sacred amber, one of Rafael’s most powerful healing elixirs, able to preserve and mummify an angelic body in death, allowing the Healer to perform the resurrections his Father decreed. It was also a binding agent: poured into a wound or over it, it held the soul and its body in a healing status until Rafael could finish the job himself.

Rafael pressed these two vials of amber into Draco’s hand, closing his fingers around them. “Keep these with you at all times.”

“Why--?” Draco knew one of Rafael’s many gifts included the gift of prophecy, second sight into the future. He rarely used it constructively, much to the chagrin of the straight-laced Uriel, but when he did, it was a powerful tool. “What have you seen, Rafael? Why will I need these?”

“That’s just it—I haven’t seen a damn thing. Not in a long time. Just take them, don’t ask questions.” He attentively shifted to his true message for the Dragon, “I need you to listen carefully.” His intensity stole any desire for Draco to interrupt. He knew this was serious. Rafael was not a dramatic.

 “It’s about Andre. And Gabriel…and Michael. And the Darkness.”

__

* * *

 

**_7:00pm_ **

**_Derek Tomlin’s House_ **

A heavy duffle thumped to the ground at the threshold of the modest little bungalow style ranch Derek Tomlin had called home since leaving the Navy. The sound matched the feel of his heart as he took a final look around.

All that remained was the furniture. Anything of note or of personal value he had packed or had burned. The weight of his personal Glock nine millimeter in its leather holster in the small of his back exemplified the life he’d just imploded.

He had a half an hour until he was supposed to meet Detective Decker at her ex-husband’s place. He didn’t like the idea of such a meeting place. He was so frogy, his paranoia manifested in a chiding voice in the back of his head that said he was going to get this innocent family killed faster than not, a meeting in a private home like Hansel and Gretel breadcrumbs.

The plan he promised to supply had original been one step: supply the detective with a 3D rendering of Scott Travis’ thumb print that would unlock his absconded smartphone device to retrieve all the information necessary to solve their cases, and also blow a hole through the seedy underbelly of contract hitters he’d stumbled upon. His last standing favor with anyone of note in the intelligence community had gone toward obtaining that. He rendered the print himself a short time ago at work, with the 3D printer there. Then he was simply going to vanish, hit the road and get out of Dodge before anyone, law enforcement or foe, could track him down and ask what the hell was going on.

If he was a heartless bastard like Scott Travis had become in second stab at life thanks to Tomlin, that plan would have sufficed all the way to parts unknown, where he’d intended to remain for however long it took him to not feel frogy and paranoid.

The plan changed as he watched the last physical remnant of Scott Travis print out like so much a piece of inorganic paper into a waiting tray. The conscious that had been screaming at him to run for the hills switched tracks and demanded he do something more than leave Detective Decker and the LAPD writ large twisting in the wind after he was the one that pulled out all the plugs and left a complete firesale in his wake.

He was still going to run, but he was going to make sure all that heat went with him. Decker would get the thumbprint. But she would also get a written and signed statement, as well as a recorded confession. He would walk back the story he’d concocted earlier, about Scott Travis approaching him about selling his services, joining former brothers in arms in the trafficking of hired hits. This time, he’d say he hadn’t blown him off, but instead said yes.  Then, he’d cop to killing Scott Travis after hearing through this grapevine of former service members turned mercs that their latest contract potentially included the assassination of an LAPD homicide detective. None other than Chloe Decker. The motive and reasoning for the hit, he was not privvy too, as per protocol, but since the detective had become a colleague and friend, he could not justify her death as he had for others. So, he took the loose cannon Travis out of the picture--permanently.

Finally, with that load of bricks hanging over his head, he would run. It didn’t matter if it was believable or if the evidence hardly supported him. It didn’t matter there was no body to substantiate his claim, or that all he did have was circumstantial. Except that confession, signed and recorded. That would be enough to send the collective weight of the law enforcement tied to this fiasco after him, and take the pressure off Chloe. No doubt, this clusterfuck wasn’t going away anytime soon, and he was genuinely sorry he’d opened this can of worms, but all the attention would force the remaining assassins to ground and cover their tracks while their operation imploded around them. That mattered a whole hell of a lot to him.

Any way, all ways, this had to be it. His life depended on it, Chloe’s life depended on it, her family’s…hell, the whole world, all the black corners these guys operated in, they all depended on him selling this to bring the house of bloody cards down for good.

Tomlin reached into his pocket for his phone. He removed the SIM card, broke it in two, and replaced it with a new one from another pocket. He went to his living room window as he dialed, that little voice that had him going all morning and afternoon and evening telling him to keep looking, keep frogy, cuz he was going to have to jump real soon.

Decker answered on the first ring.

“Derek! Derek, what the hell! Where are you?”

“I said give me an hour and half, didn’t I?”

“You’re seriously going down to the exact minute with this? Really? Do you realize what a mess it is? Feds, literally everywhere. Asking a lot of questions I still don’t have answers to. I just got to Dan’s.”

“Yeah,” Tomlin moved his curtains aside, sweeping the street. “I know. I’m sorry.”

The apology sounded a lot bigger and heavier than just for the current conversation’s sake. He did that on purpose. He truly was sorry he ever picked this scab…“Anything about the two we nabbed earlier?”

“Homeland has them. I don’t think we remotely have a shot at getting them back and grilling them about Travis, and anyway, it’s such a mess as it is…”

“Wait.” Derek let his curtain fall, turning into the conversation. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve lost the case?”

“No, but’s definitely been pushed way down on the priority list.”

“Have you talked to your friendly neighborhood INTERPOL agent yet? Let her know?”

Chloe sounded distant when she finally responded. “She’s been calling every twenty minutes since five. I haven’t answered.”

“Why? Gotta face it sometime. Maybe if you force her to spill some of her beans, you’ll get something worthwhile for the case’s sake.”

“What about this master plan of yours? Tell me you got something because I sure as hell don’t. I’m flying blind, here, Derek. You blew this thing wide open—I’m not ungrateful or unsympathetic, but I do need **_something_**.”

Tomlin carried the conversation through his single floorplan home, checking the rest of the windows, his yard, the street, his neighbors’ yards. That frogy voice was getting worse. Now the hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end. The weight of his Glock became increasingly profound.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He sighed and smiled a tired worn little smirk, “I got you Travis’ fingerprints. His thumb, actually. The one synched to his phone. I made a 3D replica at the printers we have in my office. Bringing it over to you.”

Decker was rendered momentarily speechless. The deep silence made him frown good-naturedly.

“At least say thanks?”

“…I’m—I’m trying.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. The whole plan…” He paused, chewing over the words, “The whole plan I’ll explain in person. Your big part is going to be opening that phone and getting it and its contents where it’ll do the most damage.”

“My ‘big’ part? I have more than one? And you do too?”

Tomlin hunkered down in his kitchen once he finished his circle through the rest, leaning heavily against his countertop in a dejected slump. “Yeah. Can say that.” He brought the phone from his ear to check the time. “Look, uh, I’m gonna get going over your way.”

“Right, yeah, absolutely. Talk to you then.”

Tomlin hung up, removed the SIM card again, then put the phone facedown on the ground at his feet. He was about to stomp it to bits when an almost imperceptible sound stopped him. He froze, head cocked at an angle as he tried to discern it. He rushed to his living room, skirting the wall for cover as he reached to part the curtains just enough to peek. The falling twilight outside could play tricks on anyone’s mind with all the shadow play in the dusk, but for someone in a paranoid state of hyper awareness, the bogey man was in every one of them.

Nothing blatantly stirred as wrong, or a crack team of operatives coming to end him, but everything was painfully quiet outside. The heat of the California drought lazily quelled to a hazy afterburn of the day’s scorching rays, quieting even the crickets.

That frogy feeling that bespoke impending hell breaking loose somewhere along the line screamed louder in his head. He gulped, wiped his forehead, and pulled back from the window to finish up here and get on the road. Sooner he met with Chloe, the sooner he could be out of the country and the hemisphere.

 That same imperceptible noise caught his attention again. 

This time he knew he heard it, but still couldn’t tell what it was or where it was coming from. His pounding heart and racing thoughts wouldn’t take much more of this wondering. He stilled, waiting, listening, shutting down every tangible connection he had to his surroundings, including telling that damn internal screeching that he was about to get it.

 A third time.

It was a whine. He opened his eyes. A whining that actually hadn’t stopped after first three times he caught it, just the pulse reaching a level where he couldn’t perceive it. It presently grew louder and firmly sustained.

After a moment of earnest listening, he recognized it. In a panic to find its location, his hand swept to his back to draw his weapon. He raced to pick his phone off the ground, stared at its black screen. The power button pressed and pressed again. Nothing. He peered around his kitchen with ferocious intent. All the appliances dead.

 Someone indeed was setting off a sustained electromagnetic pulse bomb. An electromagnetic pulse was a short burst of electromagnetic energy that was disruptive or damaging to electronic equipment, meaning any object within a mile radius requiring electricity, or using electrical components, were dead. Effectively cutting the victim off from civilization and destroying any valuable data they had or lifelines they might have. Like a car.

Standard procedure.

Swallowing against a rising tide of nausea, he swept his home, checking and rechecking every nook, cranny, and lock.

He couldn’t find it inside. It had to be outside. Lowering his weapon to unlock the door and cautiously push it open, he darted a glance side to side, fishing though the shadows in his yard for any signs something getting ready to jump him. For the device’s sound to be so noticeable, it had to be in the immediate vicinity of the house. Hiding his gun low in case any one of his neighbors happened along with their dog, he ran the perimeter of his property. He never found it.

A soft downpress of brittle dead grass behind him as he circled the rear of his lot signaled the result he’d intimately feared. His gun felt like a brick in his hand as he pressed it into his thigh, resettling his grip. The harsh tension riding up and down his spine evaporated, as he appeared to give into the inevitability.

“I’m turning around.” He said. He didn’t get a response, just more brittle dead grass depressed underfoot. He realized this sound was simply for his benefit. Otherwise they would have come and gone without a sound. Quick and clean. Maybe loyalty and fealty weren’t dead. Brother to brother kindness. He slowly pivoted in place, head down, gun still pressed into his thigh. He only saw the tip of a black boot, and then he rapidly fell back to fire.

A silenced shot fried, not completely muffled but still easily chalked up to another sound other than a gunshot, because in this neighborhood, people didn’t get shot in their backwards. Derek Tomlin did. His thigh blossomed red as he fell, his cry not even reaching his lips before the shooter punched him out. No more than a shadow made flesh and bone. It examined its victim from hovering overhead, then crouched to slap on a QuikClot gauze pad soaked in a powerful clotting agent, followed by a tourniquet. The shadow rose and retrieved a small remote from one of its many pockets. He pressed a button. The whine stopped. This shadow’s own cellphone, the same kind as Scott Travis, was protected against EMP blasts. He dialed it now, and spoke the minute he heard the call answered.

“Bagged and tagged.”

A scrambled voice replied, “Bring him in. Phone too. I’ll make the call at 7:30.”

* * *

 

**_7:30 pm_ **

**_Dan’s House_ **

Trixie happily forked another bit of Devil’s Dark Chocolate cake into her little mouth, already smeared with frosting. She furiously colored in her latest attempt to draw a real angel. Her dad didn’t like the previous attempt, nervously laughing over his lying-to-his-teeth assertions they were great. She’d given him a look that said she knew the truth and proudly started over. She’d get it this time. The wings were the tricky part…

She glanced over at her mom and dad deep in conversation in the living room on the cough, keeping their voices low, but she heard how anxious they sounded. Well. Least they weren’t fighting again…

She was caught staring, and they immediately shut up. She ducked and went back to her cake and drawing.

Chloe ran her nails through her hair, too wound up to sit still for long periods. Dan was no help, caught up in whatever the hell had been going on with him since having that sit down with Lucifer and Andre.

“I don’t get how you can be so calm, Dan?”

Dan listlessly shrugged, “I mean, what, you want me to do the usual argument? Do you want me to say I told you so?”

“No, I want a reasonable amount of fear and concern for our safety, for our daughter’s safety! Just a little.”

“Well, yeah, I mean I am concerned. This is not…” The word ‘normal’ caught a beat longer than necessary in his throat. Tasted wrong to say but it was the truth, “…not normal.” He couldn’t tell her the reason why he wasn’t as upset as he probably should be about his family getting get caught up in international hit squads and the like, was because they had the angels on their side. And he knew the truth about Miryam, now, and Andre. And Lucifer. As crazy and wild as it was, even having the Devil on their side was better than nothing. So, he was in a good place there. He was not in good place with the burden of this responsibility. He wanted to tell Chloe, but he didn’t have the words to do it properly.

“And if it’s not normal, and we have to do this outside the box…we do it.”

Chloe stared at him, “No. That? Right there? Is not you. You, the one who told me I had to get with the program after Palmetto.”

“Like I said,” he repeated tersely, “Not normal. I’m—I’m prepared to stand with you on this.” _This time._

“Well, gee, thanks.”

. Her cell phone rang from the coffee table. Dan leaned forward to check it. “Tomlin! He’s calling!”

Chloe immediately answered, ready to hear another excuse on why he was late. “Derek, where are you?”

Static filled the other end. She turned her head into the call, fighting to hear beyond it, for Derek’s voice. “Derek, hello?”

“What is it?’ Dan asked, perturbed by her reaction.

“I don—Derek? Hello?”

She pulled the phone away from her ear to check her screen. Still an active call. She put it on speaker phone and placed it on the table so Dan could try. Before he could, though, a strange, electronically disguised voice filled the room, calling her by name, “Detective Chloe Decker?”

Trixie froze at the kitchen table, wide eyed. Dan and Chloe traded alarmed looks, and she snatched the phone back up to deactivate speaker before Dan could. “Who is this?”

“It’s been a long 36 hours, Detective. I don’t think you really care about names at this point. You want to know what we want. I’m willing to bargain. You and I, we’re caught up in something that isn’t exactly in the job description. I’m not used to losing men like this, and you’re not used to men like mine. Let’s make it easy.”

“Why would I do that? Two of your men were caught today. Pretty sloppy work…only a matter of time before they have to confess.” Chloe wasn’t surprised by the venom in her voice. She was sick of the run around from everyone today. “Where is Derek Tomlin?”

“My guys don’t break…they do the breaking. We have our mutual friend here. He’s alive.” The voice added. “For now. You want him back, I take it.

“You want to trade.” Chloe asserted, the most logical assumption she could make. “Tomlin for your guys.”

“And Scott Travis’ body.”

“We don’t have that.”

“Guess you better find it”

“That’s going to take time. Besides, I can’t make this deal.”

“Miryam Sealgair can. Suggest you talk to her. You have til tomorrow night at 6, or we go live as planned. Evening, Detective.”


	28. Things we said Today pt. 2

12:01am

The Final Day

16 hrs remaining

Chloe hung forward on her steering wheel, casting a critical once over of Lux’s darkened exterior. For the hottest spot in town, the consecutive nights of a closed door had to hurt. Lucifer must be serious about whatever this case had descended into if he was forgoing his carousing.

His enthusiasm to help felt different this time, as different as everything else in this case, and Chloe should have been leery of that from the start. Instead, out of the faith of his growing track record for success and her damnably slippery slope into an easy friendship with him, she’d kept her mouth shut and tried to make it work.

Now the slippery slope was an out of control trainwreck. Her career and her life, and her family’s safety, were at stake. People she cared about, colleagues and friends who risked more than she could ever repay for, were disappearing. Faceless killer proposed impossible deals and no-win scenarios. She’d just spent the last five hours packing up her daughter for an extended stay at Dan’s parents, driving back and forth two hours both ways while Dan and her frantically worked out what the hell they were supposed to do now. Department protocol dictated she inform her superiors of this turn of events, which included the apparent kidnapping of a state official. Then the FBI would be called in and added to the thickening alphabet soup mix. The LeBlanc case, were it not already falling low on department priorities, would be shelved completely until internal affairs and federal officials could sort it all out. But it wouldn’t end there. And it had to end, for all their sakes. 

The caller’s final suggestion, no matter her personal feelings about it, which ranged from disbelief, shock, panic, and anger, to involve Miryam Sealgair in her final decision therefore took on pertinent weight.

Some of Derek’s last words to her added to it; Miryam indeed knew so much more than she was admitting to or had admitted to. Any number of her secrets could help them. To think, just a day ago, she’d sat with woman and talked family, about fitting in.  
Her instincts couldn’t be that off—there had to be a part of Miryam and Lucifer and the rest of their crazy family that rang true enough for her to fall in with them. She’d answered Miryam’s last urgent call to her after ignoring them all day and evening on that hope Miryam Sealgair had the answers no one else had, sacrificing reason and regulation to do what needed to be done. 

She transferred Scott Travis’ handheld to her backpocket upon leaving her Charger, anticipation cruising up and down her body in the hairs standing on end. She unconsciously let her hand drift to the butt of her holstered gun, those beleaguered instincts screaming that Lux was indeed off tonight, and not just in a closed for business sense. There was a heavy lingering sense of doom here.

Inside, it was no less gloomy. The usually sex-charged ambiance of projected silhouette dancers and the young and the restless of LA sweating and drinking it up was gone. In its place, the backside of a lone hunched figure at the Baby Grand. The shiny silk of his Armani suit dully reflecting the low light in shades of blue and gray. Lucifer’s mood.

Chloe saw him sitting there, toying with something in his hands as they rested over top, but didn’t recognize this as her Lucifer. The self-assurance, the cocky frat brat punch dolled up in double entendres and biting quick wit, the coiffed and manicured act of the spoiled son left to play alone…that was gone. In its place…she drew abreast of him, sweeping a perturbed frown high to low…was a man she didn’t recognize, or care to recognize.

“Lucifer?”

She said his name in the quiet rising intonation of a question she was reluctant to ask. 

“What’s going on here? Why are you closed? Where are the others?”

Even his voice was a husky imitation, “That’s three, Detective. Care to add seventeen more, make it an even 20?”

He glanced over shoulder for her at last, whatever he’d been playing with in his hands hidden away. She drew back at the unshaven, unfocused, very unLucifer shadow working to glower her down whole. “Lucifer…?”

“Come now, sure you can find ‘em. You certainly must have questions if I do.”

She hurried the rest of the way, her flats tapping a sharp nail rhythm on the smooth dance floor. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm, trying to pull him around on the piano bench to face her.

“Lucifer! What is it? Are you alright?”

He snorted, the mechanics of the sound working through him a half hearted flexing gesture of shoulder and back. 

“There’s a stupid question—you do know there is such a thing? Because that gives me license for a stupid answer.” His angry pass at her was as lackluster as his shrug, but her own her tired eyes were not playing tricks on the weight she saw behind his. Lucifer had been blindsided by something big and he wasn’t coping. Not in a healthy way anyway. In his way. 

“No, Detective.” He berated, “I am not ‘alright’. I have been very far from alright for bloody nigh 2 billion years!” The ludicrous statement carried all the fire his eyes lacked, all across the empty club floor, “Tonight…!” he went on bitterly, “Tonight happens to be the absolute lowest of all my lows, believe it or not. So, I indulged my immense self-immolation tendencies, God given like everything else, while my family argued these past few hours away waiting for you to make up your mind whether to come or not. Well, now I’m as drunk as I’m going to get with this…this supernatural metabolism …and my family must again contend with you making up your mind. And you’d better make it up quickly. The Devil knows when time is short.” His black stubbled jaw worked under a hard surge in emotion as he snatched out a quick-fingered hand to retrieve his glass from the piano’s spine. “It’s short. Too short.”

Chloe swallowed, drawing back on the crack in his voice. This was too much, even for him. “You’re…you’re scared.” Her awe tiptoed to aghast.

His response slashed through her. “You know they blame me for all the wrong in the world, all the fear and hatred?” His brow furrowed to shoot his eyebrows down under his black crown, “Hell, Detective, I banished true evil for my 1st birthday.” He reached to the left of him now, bringing a nameless bottle of liquor from the bench to pour. He downed that glass too, curling around it as if it could protect him from what he had to say next. “Only I gave it to a madman. A lunatic. All wrapped up in a kitschy amphora.  
“Then He let it out! Not once, not twice, but thousands of times! Over and over! Until this last time?” He shot her a crumbling look of despair, his speech tortured, “He let it take my brother. He’s going to let it destroy them all!” He churned from his seat in a black whirlwind of cloth and rage, hurling the half empty bottled across the room, not even hearing it shatter or seeing Chloe’s frank and raw dismay. “I can’t save him!” He bellowed. ‘I can’t save any of them!” He turned on her in a flash, filling in the space between them, the whole room, with his presence, “So yes…Detective. I am bloody terrified… of watching another brother fall! That means I failed. I hate…hate being called a liar: that’s what a failure is, right? And they’re not even going to fall to me. that’s the worst of it. All. The way. Down. Into the Darkness. The Void. Where it’s cold,” He smoldered with his pain, breaking her heart even as she struggled to understand. The depth of agony was that profound. “And lonely…and the screams…oh, the screams. Hell has nothing on these screams. They’re the others who are there. You can’t see them. You just hear them. Wailing. Begging for Light.”

Overcome, his hands rose to grip his hair but fell half way and instead reached out to find the piano bench. He all but collapsed on it. Chloe automatically followed him there to steady him. He made a tilt with his head that said he didn’t want her to touch him…just like that night months earlier, when he let her see his scars.

Also like then, as abruptly as his outburst had engulfed the entire room, did the embarrassment of it also overtook him. This uncharacteristic loss of Devilish cool in front of her, most of all her, buttoned him up tight. He quietly seethed with the outburst’s passion. 

“Lucifer… I’m sorry. Whatever happened…we’re all going through this together. You can talk to me.”

He studiously ignored her prying gaze and the invitation to open up, venomously directing her out:

“The others are upstairs…top floor. Better go.” He flashed coal black eyes that sent a tingly chill down her spine, “They’re waiting.”


	29. Confrontation

Chloe dreaded the elevator doors opening. Seeing Lucifer so demoralized right off the bat punctured a hole in her day long resolve to distance herself from these very emotions. Her own downward spiral magnified in him-- How much, then, would Miryam undermine her too? The chrome doors slid open.

Lucifer’s penthouse suite blended old world bibliophile charm with a man cave vibe that only one who professed to being the Devil while also owning a nightclub could pull off. His second baby grand piano centered the room against his full backstopping personal bar, its frosted glass shelving softly aglow. The amber warmth of the library gracing the far right wall, abutting the elevator like a halo, drew the eye first. In a domino effect, the apartment then flowed outward over the sensuous cushy leather couches and recliners, finally ending at the sliding glass doors to his balcony, where his patio was set up to enjoy the fantastic view. Lucifer’s core personality traits represented in aesthetics. 

Miryam stood first as Chloe stepped out, abandoning her seat at the couch greet her. Her high cheek-boned elegance worn down by dark exhausted circles, dressed up with red raw rims from too much rubbing and wiping. She looked tired – so very, very tired. “Chloe…I was afraid you wouldn’t come after all that has happened.” 

“Hard to ignore… after one of your colleagues is kidnapped.” 

Miryam’s frowned, sinking back into a chair, her exhaustion drowning any surprise of dismay she might have felt. She remained silent as Chloe looked away to wordlessly greet her brothers. Damien stood when he saw his sister bow out, Andre following. Draco eased from the shadows at the two men’s decision to join the conversation. Chloe looked between the two, recognizing the blond from outside the Leblanc’s lawyer’s office, while Andre drew an extra second of consideration because he looked just as inexplicably grungy and tired as his sister.

“Before we do this,” she said to the three. “I want those answers upfront.” 

The others retook their seats, Chloe choosing the furthest away for space. She’d explained, in short, in her reluctant phone call to Miryam what her day had entailed, ending with the ominous call from the contract hitters and their ultimatum. The group here knew what was at stake. She held that to them to get complete honesty if they were going to work together to fix this.

“Detective,” Damien began as delicately as possible. “I realize you believe you are owed the full truth here, and I don’t blame you for thinking so. After all, my sister dragged you into something you should be far away from.”

“But...”

“But... You don’t know how much you’re asking, from us…from yourself…to know the whole truth that you’re demanding.” He glanced back at his sister with a frown. “In fact, to be blunt, this is all above your pay grade. That you were read into this situation at all is a breach of all protocols and something that will have to be dealt with at a later date.”

“Then maybe you should just tell me, let me decide for myself. In fact,” She doubled down on her frustration, “You’ve lied too much for me to actually take anything you say seriously. That’s why we’re here.”

“No…no, I’m afraid that’s not why we’re here.” Damien replied in testy impatience. “You weren’t lied to, Detective, you simply weren’t told everything for your protection. Believe me, believe that.”

Chloe stared at him, gauging his seriousness. He was deadly serious. “Protection? A good friend of mine was kidnapped….” 

“An unfortunate occurrence but as I said, you’re asking a lot especially when you do not understand the true nature of the situation. Or of ours.” He trailed off with a shrug, and sat back, “I don’t see why you’d blame my sister for something that is beyond her control especially since your lack of faith precluded asking us these questions BEFORE the powder keg was lit...”

Chloe took stock in his tone and the significance of the words’ implications. Faced with something Lucifer would also spout off, about the Devil and angel and the Daddy issues bit…and laughed in disbelief; wiped her face with her hands, ending by pulling at her lips as she threw them away from her. “So. It runs in the family, then. These…delusions of grandeur.”

Damien lifted one eyebrow then brought out his phone. “Let me see if I can find someone to explain your place in this for you.”

“Chloe,” Miryam reached out to her, smiling benignly in her attempt to smooth over and appease, “I should have told you everything. I had every opportunity to. But I didn’t. Because Damien is right: your safety is our main concern. In this case, I jeopardized that. Yes. I admit it. So, please, let’s not make this worse. No more lies, just open lanes of communication. And that goes both ways.” She added with a delicate arch of brow. Meaning Chloe had to believe just as much as they had to tell those truths…

She got her drift immediately. “Huh.”, unconvinced and annoyed. She sat forward, grey eyes flashing under the strain of the day catching up as she got the exact run around she’d expected. “I don’t…have time for this. Something is happening in this city. Something…too big for me…for the LAPD? And my family. A very good man and colleague may die. Because you lied to me. So I don’t want delusions. I don’t want to hear Lucifer is the Devil…I want the truth. The whole truth.” She hardened her voice to a testy edge. “Starting with who you actually work for.”

Another long crestfallen look. “Chloe…” Miryam tried again in imploration.

“I know INTERPOL doesn’t have its own agents. Nice little known fact I bet you all exploit a lot.”

Damien clarified her source, holding his still ringing phone in one hand.

“Your SEAL friend, the Assistant Medical Examiner?” 

“His name is Derek.” 

“Sorry,” Damien half raised his hands in apology. “Derek.”

“Yes. He told me. Said INTERPOL personnel is culled from its member states.” She looked directly at Miryam, “So, a) if you are INTERPOL, where are you from, b) you again lied, and you need to tell me who you actually work for. Or c) I arrest you.”  
Damien stopped his call with a quick flick of his finger. “No detective. You will NOT arrest us. I will not allow this farce to go that far.”

Andre snorted. “Arrest us. Yeah, alright.’ He sat forward, drawing himself together in a hunched lean, elbows on his knees and a smart ass grin on his face. “Look… Yeah. We lied. Through our teeth when we had to. We don’t work for INTERPOL. And you’re right, most people don’t know about the member state personnel thing, so we do exploit it. You know, for the family business: saving people, hunting things?”

His elder brother shrugged. “Whether you believe it or not – your government does, at time, make use of private security companies to deal with situations like the human trafficking ring my sister and brother helped to break up. If you were to call INTERPOL tonight – they would verify that we were representatives of other governmental agencies such as MI6 or French Sûreté – and then those agencies would be informed of a breach of security. You and your associates would find that being LAPD doesn’t amount to a hill of beans in this world. Something your friend Derek should have remembered before he started poking around in things he could no longer control or contain.”

“Anyway,” Andre waved off his brother’s words. “What I’m saying here, Detective, you keep pushing this issue…you’re suddenly gonna get a lot more than Lucifer’s the actual Devil. We want to help make this right. But man, you gotta give us that much. And right now?” He squished his mouth up in a jaded facial shrug. “You’re just gonna get your friend killed.”

Chloe quickly stood, fed up.

“Andre.” Damien snapped.

“Nah, man, really. She doesn’t want to believe us. I mean, how many hints have we dropped? Hell, the only thing that had her ex-douche-sicle believing was seeing!”

Chloe instantly paled, fighting to keep her own face from falling. 

“Amenadiel’s in the wind, Lucy’s wingless…less you want to call Raffi down again—“

“Wait!”

Mid-rant, the attention swung back to her, blandly taking in her flustered exasperation.

“…What do you mean...about Dan? What happened?”

“Oh.” Andre exclaimed flatly, apparently validated. “Oh. See? Hil-fucking-larious.”

“Yes, when you casually mention Dan like that, yeah,” She folded her arms in a pert gesture of inflexibility, “Hilarious is not my word for it.”

Damien gestured her down, interjecting a modicum of cool-headedness in a situation that was quickly spiraling, “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here.”

“We’re not getting anywhere.” Miryam contradicted him. “Just…” she waved it off morosely, looking out the patio doors, “Tell her your way. Get this over with…”

Damien frowned, running his hand through his hair. “Alright. Alright, look. Detective. Please.” He gestured to the seat she’d vacated. “Sit down. We’re going to do this right, and for that, I think you’d be better off sitting.”

Her arms fell apart and her shoulders fell. “Fine.” She moved to lower herself down. Damien eyes lighted on the bulge in her back pocket as she bent to sit. “First…” He pointed at it, “Can I see the handheld?”

Chloe paused, calculating whether she wanted to part with it without any guarantees of seeing it again, or of it being of any use—something that Derek, and all of them including her family, could potentially die for. She retrieved it from her pocket and passed it reluctantly over via the other two. 

Damien took it in hand, examining the black brushed metal-cased iPhone sized device. The home screen button, the all-important finger print scanner that powered the whole thing and marked their only obstacle from unlocking all the secrets and plans, and therefore solutions, to their enemy, flashed an illuminated green biometric grid. 

Scott Travis’ body down in the basement crossed the trio’s collective thoughts in another shared glance. 

“You said Derek told you he had Scott Travis’ thumbprint in a 3D scan.”

Chloe nodded at Damien, intently watching his hands taking in the object’s weight. “He said he burned every last favor he had for this, to make it right.” She looked to her feet, raking her nails into her scalp. “He’s gone, that’s gone. We have no body…and the two live ones we do have aren’t LAPD’s to question, and I have no way of getting to them even if I could. Basically,” she clapped in a disheartened sigh, “We have nothing, and time is running out. So if you have anything…I’ll listen. But it better be the truth, and it better be good.”

“He got too close. And someone on the team, wherever they are, realized who he was and that he was helping you. This is an act self-preservation, not further aggression.” Damien shrugged and passed the unit back to his younger brother, who tossed it on the cushioned sofa.

“So, I give them what they want, they go? I don’t think so. I want them stopped and most of all I want this case closed—the LeBlancs, the feds, all of it.”

“As do I. Forgive me, thinking aloud…”

“Damien,” Miryam, now folded up on her cushion with her legs under her in a weary lean, pressed again with light exasperation, “Get on with it.”

He looked over at his siblings, tongue pitched against his bottom teeth thoughtfully. “Right.” He glanced to the Detective, sizing her up. Miryam thought she was a good egg, a better example of humanity than most. Lucifer…somehow managed be an iota less of spoiled ass when she was around, that counted for something. But tonight – he wasn’t sure of either of their abilities to read people, especially Miryam’s. And with Uriel out of touch and possibly n danger, the Phoenix was feeling less and less charitable towards the beleaguered police officer.

“Detective.”

She met his eye, edge for edge.

“We can help you. If you’re willing.”

“Told you I was.”

“Good.” He sat back with attentive drop to his mouth, brow furrowing as he worked out the details of what he had to say, where, and when. “Andre was not just running his mouth before, not completely.” 

That Chosen snorted again, sagging in his seat with a sullen scowl, muttering, “Useless…”

“As I said before - we’re not official personnel of any state or federal, or international law enforcement agency. Anywhere. In fact – we don’t exist anywhere except as a paper trail to a bank account held by a shell company. We’re our own team, financed by family funds that are untraceable. We are useful to for jobs most spy or security forces could not or would not be able to handle – especially if those jobs include crossing international borders. Those agencies know that when the situation is dire, when every other option has been exhausted, it’s time to call us in. With this case, here—considering it was once our problem and our mess, we broke our own rules and inserted ourselves in the situation.” Damien sat forward, unconsciously employing some of that magnetism he had thanks to his Phoenix Fire Spirit—Chloe, however, just saw it as charm and gravitas, as would every other mortal.

“It was not prudent. In hindsight, with everything we were dealing with in our own lives, how little control we had its spilling out, Miryam should not have asserted herself. At least then…you and your city, your friends, family, even Lucifer, wouldn’t be facing the gallows here.”

That imagery was not helpful, and she didn’t appreciate his using it. His candidness was more than usual, but still not sufficing.

Damien went on, “We’re good…at what we do. Because we were specifically Chosen to do it. From birth. Miryam knows the weapons, Andre knows the screws to turn, and I know when and where to deploy both. How it’s…always been, and I hope,” He paused, his brows shooting together at a sudden twang of thought Chloe wouldn’t recognize in him as doubt, but the others certainly did, and suddenly the seriousness of all things considered hit bone deep in the three. “…I hope how it will always be.

“Those who help us, guide us, guard us,” He reiterated as a way of naming them without doing so, “They’re…family; uniquely qualified in ways we’ll get to later, but…in this instance, they couldn’t do their duties with us as business as usual. There’s that… bigger problem back home, and…” He looked to Miryam, painfully neutral in his expression, which was far worse if he had actually put some anger behind it, “And this time, things went terribly wrong. Wrong in a way we can’t fix, I’m sorry to say.” He flicked the same look to Andre, who buttoned up on the sullen sarcasm and pulled a darting ADD gaze instead, anywhere but Damien. “And that’s how your mess here, Detective, snowballed.”

Chloe recalled the conversation she’d had with Miryam in her cruiser the day before, at the Skid Row scene where they became aware of their professional shadow. The familial dust up. She also recalled the other handsome blond Damien had had with him, Uriel. And how he suddenly appeared then disappeared just as she and Miryam were making headway only to have their lawyer lead found dead minutes later.

“You’re talking about Lucifer’s brothers…your family squabble.” She stated, incredulous. “THAT…screwed this up? How?”

Andre made a noncommittal grunting sound, rubbing his eyes, “Let me count the ways…”

“No, I only want the way where were your issues suddenly became my issues, and put a lot of people at risk!”

Damien, in turn, dropped a bombshell. “Your dead assassin, the one whose body his partners want? We have it.” He glanced back down at his cell phone, noting with satisfaction that the call had finally gone through and the person he was looking for was on the line, listening and waiting…

That was not the answer she’d expected, not in the many iterations of this conversation she’d run through on the way over. She went cold, from fingertip to toe tip. “You…You have it?” Her mouth opened and closed several times over her squinting disbelief. 

Miryam cleared her throat, eyes on her hands gathered in her lap, so she could finish what was rightfully her doing, “When we went into that house, Chloe, he’d just been killed. His body was still in there, and so was his killer.”

Chloe stood again, wavering between denial she could have been made into the very dirty cop she despised, and bitter regret she’d let it happen in the first place. “We were followed,” She swung around to Damien, “Where did your friend Uriel go after we met at the lawyers? You three supposedly met for coffee, that’s why you, Miryam, took off after we found the second body. But--.” She tilted her head at all the puzzle pieces fitting her own narrative. “No. You knew all along, about the other players. You…you used me, this case, to draw them out!”

Damien quirked an elegant eyebrow, lamely unmoved by her reaction, “Well, it fits. Can’t fault you there. Except you’re wrong, and I’m sorry we’ve brought you to the point where it does actually fit for you. Uriel didn’t kill him. Uriel was with me until he left, and yes, I have the receipts from coffee and lunch, as well as several witnesses, to prove it.” 

He left the hanging implication it was someone near them just the same, near Uriel too. Damien lifted his gaze to Andre, who sank deeper in his chair cushion under the incriminating weight until he had no choice but to open his usually loud mouth and whisper the bare honest truth.

“Gabriel killed him.” 

Chloe turned on him. He forlornly resigned himself to her scrutiny, no longer his gleefully snide self, glorying at making cracks of everyone’s expense. “Gabriel—my father. Killed him.”

She maintained her wordless pressure.

He went on, sounding like he was pleading the case for his own survival, “He was here. Trying to talk to me. He—He followed Miryam, using her to get to me. Ran into the assassin…killed him to protect her, and you. I couldn’t believe it myself. He’s…he’s not usually this violent. I mean,” He backtracked, “Yeah, he’s…he’s had to kill before, but not like this…”

The real magnitude remained watered down until they had some substantial proof to show her.

“He’s killed before, but not like this.” Chloe repeated, blinking hard.

“He’s sick.” He retorted. “I don’t expect you to understand it. Regardless, he saved your ass and my sister’s!”

“Well, great! You’re right, I don’t understand. Your father killed a key piece to this case—!“ 

“—Before he could kill you, Detective, don’t forget that!”

“—And now you cover up evidence to save him, to impede a case that has federal implications?” 

“---Like you have?” Andre shot his eyebrows up as a gesture to the handheld still on the sofa.

Chloe wanly shuffled a step back, her hand falling to her where she kept her pair of cuffs. The other fall on the butt of her gun. She grimly set herself in place, “Yeah, well, that ends now. I was wrong. And I’m going to admit that to everyone I have to. Stand up.”

Andre remained seated, slouched in an easy folded down version of how he usually stood. His lazy sneering smile drifted over the corners of his mouth and sharpened the daring glint in his eye, “Are you arresting me?”

“Yes, you’re under arrest for obstruction of justice, for starters. Stand up.” She drew her weapon, and let it hang with her trigger finger pressed lengthwise outside the trigger guard.

The Dragon’s sucker punched expression briefly passed as deadpanned incredulity. “Jesus Christ…Damien, fucking TELL HER.”

“He has nothing more to say. I’m telling you that right now, the last rule that I’m breaking for you, to exercise your right to remain silent. I don’t want to hear it!”

“Chloe, be reasonable.” Miryam unfolded herself, just a hint of gentle patronization in her tone.

“No,” Chloe set her jaw back in its hinges, vigorously shaking her head. Her cheeks grew gaunt, elongating her already sharply define features. Strands of fly-away blond fluffed at her temples. “No, not anymore. This has gone on long enough. You’re all under arrest. I’m taking you down to the station and you’re going to tell them everything.”

Damien sat up in his chair, a King reigning in control of his court, drawing her aim and attention. Draco melted forth from his station at the same time. 

The young king remained with the back of his knees against his recliner’s front, his phone was now extended to her. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Detective Decker.” He gave her a grim smile. “You might want to talk to this person before you get on your high horse about anything more.”

Instead, Chloe motioned for him to step away from the recliner and turn around. “I don’t care who you have on the line…” she hissed.

“This is one call you should care about, Detective.” Damien replied coldly. “Ignore it at your own peril.” He rose, allowing her to approach. “You are being incredibly shortsighted.”

“Tell me about it.” She stepped quickly to try to gather his hands – only to be shoved violently backwards into the waiting arms of Draco, her gun sent flying by a quick twist of Damien’s wrist. 

Damien looked down at her coolly retrieving his phone from the floor. “I did warn you Now will you take this call?”

Chloe glared back at him, snatching the phone from his hand. “Who is this?”

“This” an voice drawled, annoyance barely contained in its tone. “is Special Agent Aaron Decker, Homeland Security’s Directorate of Management. I was part of the takedown team that scooped up Hawkins and Jeffs. And you are about to blow up a case my office has been working on for six months.”

Chloe eyed the phone in annoyance, mentally cursing . It sounded like the agent who had come to take her other suspects away after they had been cornered. But that was impossible - how could this wealthy businessman have a Federal agent on his speed dial? The two assassins had sounded legitimate too. If Derek hadn't warned her... “How do I know you are who you say you are? This could be anyone…”

“It could be” the voice agreed. “It could also be the voice that gets your badge pulled, your interference in a Federal Investigation bumped up the line to the Chief of Police and your career terminated. So… put Mr. Dragón back on the line so I can get an update on the current situation.”

Chloe handed the phone back with a mutinous glare. “If you think I’m going to buy that story…”

Damien sighed, tired of dealing with this impediment. “She isn’t buying your story” he snarled into the phone. “Call her chief – maybe he can take the wind out of her unreasonable sails. Have him call this number when you’ve spoken to him.” He tossed the phone onto the sofa beside the handheld. “Your funeral, detective.”

“You should probably put those cuff on me, Detective, since my brother’s not being cooperative” Andre quipped, shooting his brother and sister a blandly annoyed look. “Make ‘em tight. By the way, my safe word is Keep Going. ”. She bored a hole in his back at his glibness. This family was nuts.

Draco appeared to glide forward around the furniture to present himself, head tipped back in an aloof peering down his nose. “I assure you, your cuffs are not necessary. Not with my young master and not with me. I broke bread at your table, with your child, Madam. I am many things, but ill-mannered is not one of them. I suggest you reconsider--immediately.”

Chloe did reconsider. The friendship she’d shared with these people, especially Miryam and Draco, was something she’d missed in the solitary confinement of her Palmetto affair. And finding another woman unafraid to do what she must in the face of insurmountable odds? Like finding the sister she never had. “You’re right.” She replied. “You did. And that’s why I’m giving you this last break: Help me - do you know where the body is?”  
\--


	30. Conversations

Lucifer held the bloody piece of broken glass aloft. He tilted it this way and that until the red trails perfectly covered tip to tip in a wavy line. His finger pulsed from the deep cut. Several of his piano’s white keys were dotted with thick ruby red globules, a perverse set of dominoes.

Immediately after his melt down in front of the Detective, he’d waited for her to leave the club floor before working open his top buttons on his shirt and taking in the mess of glass shards and fragrant alcohol fumes. The smashed bottle could have been all his smashed hopes for this family of his. Every piece a broken promise. Another brother’s life. His father’s insatiable appetite for megalomania. The poisonous spread. A turkey shoot, fish in a barrel, a massacre.

The Detective didn’t have to see that, though. Shouldn’t have to bear witness to his fall or anyone else’s fall. Except her own. Which he was inexcusable apart of. He dragged her in, because this used to be fun, poking through the primates he used to despise, turning all the nasty little bits he’d learned about them in Hell into something he could be proud of. Because finally, finally! Dad had nothing to do with it. And this parading about through the gullible masses, solving crimes, get his kicks now that Hell didn’t do it for him…all with a pretty little human who was frustratingly, mysteriously, captivatingly immune to him, to follow around. Almost like having a Chosen One—

Shut up.

Lucifer pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw kaleidoscopic color wheels. 

Don’t call her that. She’s not, she never will be, and if she was it would ruin everything. Because she would be one of Dad’s…and you’d have fallen for the same sick games as before.

Chloe Decker was, however, the most important human in all their lives, and somewhere between the start of this case and now, he’d lost control of her, their relationship, this case, and his family. Depending on her reaction to this meeting, three out of the four might be returned. The family…He crunched several shards as he knelt in the epicenter of the impact field, solemnly considering the symbolism…The Family was broken beyond anyone’s repair. He saw that much when he touched the dead assassin’s body. Felt Gabriel…felt the Darkness, and the oneness of the halves.

A particularly large shard glinted at him for attention. The bottle had been clear, but this piece had an odd ribbon of green through it, from the otherwise monochromatic black and blue lighting of Lux’s darkened floor.   
He’d picked it up. A jagged edge bit and stuck firm. He hissed. Not an impression of pain. Real pain. Then blood. Real blood. Dark and fresh, winding down over knuckles.  
Not again…

 

Fascinated by the unpredictability of his mortality, how it all seemed to be gathering speed downhill as the rest of his wayward family also struggled, he’d straightened and returned to his piano to play with this more. He held his hand steady and the shard like a knife, and sliced his finger deeper. It dripped like a slow faucet. 

He now glanced from mangled finger and shard to the ceiling, the novelty waning. He wondered what was going on upstairs; no signs of WWIII or Damien pulling his holier-than-thou jockstrap too tight…

Only sign he did have was this bleeding. Weakness on immortal skin. When, again, the only real difference here…was the Detective. He couldn’t understand why…if she was the answer, what it meant.

Hungering for a different sensation, to be in control of something for a change, Lucifer flipped the piece of glass into his palm and clenched his fist around it until skin separated with a little bit of slicing give and a lot of wetly piercing sting. He held his fist to his lips, eyes shut, burying himself in the pain. Several red lines flowed from under his curled fingers, filling the lines in his palm, and staining creamy white sleevecuff.

It didn’t make him feel alive as he’d hope for, like getting shot or burning his wings. It made him feel weak and insignificant, like losing Father Frank had. A weak and insignificant thing who couldn’t save the family he’s already given so much for.   
So much for control.

Without warning, his heart suddenly somersaulted hard enough to give him honest angina. A densely packed pocket of tingly nerves popped at the base of his spine, a thrill across his back. Gasping and clutching his chest, he slumped into his piano, still clenching the glass piece. 

Well, aren’t you a bloody mortal waste of space… His mind took special glee in reminding him of this as he processed the fact he may be suffering a damn heart attack right here and now. But a coronary didn’t take his breath away… A soft rustle, like rich satin, and a burst of spice-scented leather, did instead.

Strong fingers weedled their way into his fist and worked his hand open. The glass piece dropped with a small tinkle. His lacerated palm burned.  
“Still self-destructive, I see. Some things never change with you.” 

\---

Draco went first, obliging a keyed up Detective who had insisted on retrieving her weapon only to be informed in no uncertain terms that SHE was the untrustworthy one of the group. She stood behind him as they stepped off the elevator, nursing hurt pride at being so easily pushed off and real fear of the next step in this horror show would do to her and those she protected. 

“I assure you,” He repeated for the fourth time in the short ride down, his hands splayed wide at waist level in a half-hearted no-threat gesture, “Detective. I have no desire to hurt you. Quite the opposite.”

“Yeah, because you all have given me so much reason to believe that” She replied, flicking a hand at him twice to signal get going, “Excuse me for not believing you.”

“Very well.” He sighed. “Follow me.”

Motion activated lights sprang up one by one as he took her through the basement to Lucifer’s massive supply room. Its steel casing shone in the lights, the floor to ceiling liquor racks impressively paced out in a small maze of rows and columns full of expensive liquors and wines. Unopened crates lined the back of the room, waiting to be unloaded when there was space. 

Chloe stopped at the threshold, squinting at that dubious maze quality. Draco continued in, halting just inside to look back expectantly. 

“Well? You asked for the body, Detective. It’s in here.”

It was highly unnerving, the thought of a dead body hidden in these racks…and Lucifer complacent in its disposal... 

“You first, then.” 

She followed him in, sweeping the room as best as she could without her weapon. If they were planning on jumping her…they were drawing the moment out past reasonable. 

He took her to the middle row of racks, his own thoughts cycling back to Rafael…and the moment of ugly truth they’d shared in this very spot just hours ago. He stopped again, planting himself to go no further. Only this cage of metal and glass separated them from the first evil of the universe. He smelled its presence. Even that was too much for comfort. 

“It’s around the back of this rack, Detective. You’ll pardon me if…I don’t join you.”

She regarded his dramatics with a healthy dose of skepticism and doubt: everything had been a lie, why wouldn’t this be?

Her mistrust tempered, however, when she considered Draco had been the most straight with her throughout, and wasn’t the sort who got easily rattled. Satisfied the old man wasn’t going to bolt or attack with her back turned, she ducked past him and the rack. 

She thought she knew what to expect. The amount of blood left behind at the Skid Row scene alluded to a bleed out, either jugular or femoral artery. 

If this case had done anything…it surely shaken those instincts to their core. 

“Ohmygod.” She stopped in place, covering her mouth with both hands. Horrified, she reflexively backed into the rack. It shuddered on its bolts, rattling bottles in their bracings. The reaction was unprofessional, but this body…supposedly of a man who died less than a day ago… was mummified.

Drained of fluids completely. Desiccated paper thin skin over shrunken bone. 

Gross images of a turkey carcass picked clean after Thanksgiving dinner floated through her thoughts, and she had to look away, eyes shut tight.

“Unpleasant business…” Draco’s soft Scottish burr spilled over her ear—he’d joined her after all.

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand.” She forced herself to look; it churned her stomach and her mouth into a repulsed scrunch. Her gun returned to its holster, “This can’t be Scott Travis.”

“Oh, Detective. I assure you.” Draco replied, sagely assured, “This is your man.”

“How?” She turned wide gray eyes on him. “He’s only been dead less than a day! How can this, it has to be several years old and been well preserved somewhere else, be a fresh body? Why?” She demanded, furious snap of frayed nerve, “Do you do you insist on lying!”

“And why, Detective, do you refuse to listen? My lady and her family have told you the facts – it is you who is determined not to see them.” The old man frowned, no longer the gently, elegant manservant but an angry, tired old soldier. “If there were time I would suggest to my lady ways to make you see but frankly, Detective, knowing what I know about this situation – your inability to see outside of the box is more a threat to those I care for than the animals that have been sent to harm them.”

Chloe stared, slack-jawed, at the man in front of her, not believing that SHE was being blamed for all that was going on – just because she refused to believe in the impossible.


End file.
